Waiting
by Phoenix13
Summary: 2007 MOVIEVERSE Arcee is the last Autobot femme and she needs to produce a sparkling. Of all the mech's, who will be the sire of her offspring? Crackfic. CH 19 - Teaching males about babies. Going shopping. And playing 'Halo'.
1. Chapter 1

**Waiting**

Authors Note: This is set twenty-seven years after the 2007 movie. I'm writing this because I want to see what would happen if the Autobots realised that Arcee is probably the only femme they have left, and that the responsibility of keeping their species going now rests with her. Who will she choose to be the Sire of her sparkling? The big guy – Optimus? The cheeky but cute one – Bumblebee? The cranky but intelligent one – Ratchet? You get the drift. This all stems from my sick little fantasy of 'Look at all the pretty mechs! Which one do I want?'. And yes, the title sucks!

For this to work, I'm assuming that the mechs have no prior attachments (ie. no Elita, no Chromia) and Arcee has no attachment either.

**Chapter 1**

_**The lookout... late evening...**_

Optimus Prime stood with a stiff stance. Uneasy. Looking out at the view with his optics slanted towards the sky.

He rarely came here any more; the others still met here; just not him. It reminded him of the futility of his message –"We are here, we are waiting" – the message he had so joyfully and hopefully sent out to the stars from the very same location he was now standing. Well, they were still waiting. It had been nearly twenty-seven Earth years now, the only arrivals had been Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Arcee. No one else. Hardly enough to make a community, really, and worst of all, they had one solitary femme among a slew of mechs. How on Cybertron were they expected to keep their species alive with ONE femme?

His famous positive resolve slipped. It was useless. One lone female was not enough to keep them going. They needed the Allspark, but it was long since dead. Their situation was dire.

This wasn't a new situation for him. They'd faced femme problems before. Females were always rare and treasured. But this _was_ the first time he had the leisure of facing the problem without the threat of war and death over his head. He wasn't just the Autobot Commander; he was the protector of his species. How could he protect something that was slipping through his fingers?

In Prime's most vivid and buoyant visions for the future, he'd seen himself as the guardian and protector of many sparklings produced by his peaceful army. Families, sparklings and femmes everywhere. The young were the future. With the Allspark taken away from them and having only one femme land on Earth... Optimus closed his optics momentarily in grief.

Turning stiffly, Optimus lifted his head and transformed, driving away from a place that had once given him so much hope.

_**The Autobot base...**_

He didn't fail to notice the raised voices and angry body language of his troops when he returned. Ironhide was sticking an angry finger into the faceplate of Sunstreaker, leaning over the almost-as-tall mech and delivering some sort of lecture.

"Leave her alone and keep your hands to yourself!" Ironhide was raging into Sunny's faceplate. Ratchet was backing up Ironhide by standing at his shoulder with a stern expression and crossed arms.

"I was doing fine until a certain aging tin-can started throwing his weight around," Sunstreaker spat back, glaring.

Sideswipe covered his face with his hands, mumbling, "You're making it _worse_, Sunshine."

"When you have the experience, CPU, and strength to back up your words, then you can insult me," Ironhide growled, "I won't stand for such insolence from a sparkling with a gun and an over-rated opinion of himself."

Sunstreaker went for said gun, wrenching it from his hip, "Right, that's it, stuff this-"

"STAND DOWN!"

Sideswipe shrank back as he watched a glaring Optimus Prime stand over both Ironhide and Sunstreaker. "Oh slag, here we go..."

"Ironhide, report." Prime's tone was harsh.

"Sunstreaker was shoving Arcee around and practically forcing her to go with him." Ironhide's optics burned with hatred. "She wasn't interested but he wouldn't let up. It's one thing to cajole, another to ignore the word ' no'."

The yellow Twin's face darkened with fury, "I was NOT forcing her, we were just playing around, Cee is in on that, she doesn't mind."

Prime's optics narrowed dangerously, "Did Arcee say the word 'no'?"

"Er... yes! But..!"

"Sunstreaker, you are hereby confined to your quarters. Ratchet, please escort him." Prime's tone was hard. He knew Sunstreaker's reputation with femmes. He used guile, charm, and his good looks to get them to do what he wanted. He wouldn't hurt them, but he could brush over their negative responses to get them to do what he wanted.

"Slag head," Ironhide hissed as Sunstreaker was marched away by a gleeful Ratchet.

"Where is Arcee?" Prime questioned, looking around.

"In her quarters, I think..." Ironhide answered uncertainly. "Sunstreaker was being too rough."

"I'll talk to her. Thank you for protecting her, Ironhide."

"Heh, she doesn't need protecting, she could have defended herself fine, it just looked like she'd had enough of being chased and was too tired to really go against that slagger."

"Hmm."

Optimus made his way to Arcee's quarters, hesitating and thinking what to say when he knocked on her door. "Arcee, it's Optimus."

The door slid back, revealing the pink and purple form of the warrior Arcee staring up at him. She looked at his imposing frame filling her doorway. "This is about Sunstreaker, isn't it."

"Yes," Prime nodded, gesturing inside, "may I come in?"

Arcee shrugged, "Sure."

Optimus had to duck to enter the room. While Arcee's quarters were larger than the other Autobots, the ceiling was lower. He could just barely stand upright.

"Optimus, I mean no dis-respect, but I don't need you or Ironhide controlling how the other mech's react to me. I'm used to it." Arcee's small angular face was tilted up at him. "I can fight back but I do try not to. I can't deck every mech who looks at me the wrong way, or else you'd be putting _me_ in the brig – if we had one..."

"Sunstreaker was out of line, he knew it, and Ironhide knew it." Optimus said firmly. He was holding his head at an angle to avoid colliding his antennae with the ceiling. "If Sunstreaker or anyone else fails to show you the respect you deserve, they will also be punished."

Arcee winced, "I don't want to cause problems! Sunstreaker will be even worse to live with after this!"

"We will protect you, Arcee." Optimus was stubborn with his protective streak.

The femme clenched her jaw. This was worse then what Sunstreaker did. "This all comes down to me being female; to being maybe the _last_ female. Doesn't it?!"

Prime struggled to keep his expression neutral and calm, "I won't deny you are precious to us; to me -"

"Drop the act, Optimus. I know what you want and why." Arcee refused to look at his face, staring at his long legs and thick feet instead. "You need me to produce sparklings. My worth as a warrior is negligible next to that. That's why you're all so protective and nice around me."

Optimus didn't know what to say. Arcee was right, she was priceless to them because of her ability to produce sparklings. It wouldn't be good to come out and say it but she was right.

"Well, how many do you want me to have? Give me a number," Arcee clenched her hands into fists.

Optimus winced, his frame tensing, "How many you want is up to you. That's personal. We're not going to force you to have one."

With a shake of her head Arcee dropped her aft down onto her recharge berth, her posture sagging. "I know you won't force, you're too nice. You expect that I'll have at least one sparkling, don't you?"

A small 'yes' passed Optimus Prime's mouthplates before he could stop it.

Arcee sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "And if no one else is coming, that means I'll have to choose one of the mech's here to be the sire."

"It's up to you... but, yes, perhaps you'd need to be careful about who you chose." Images filled Prime's CPU of what the sparklings of the various warriors would look like. He could see a Ratchet sparkling throwing sparkling-sized wrenches, or a Wheeljack sparkling blowing himself up, or an Ironhide sparkling using the other bots as target practise with the tiny cannons on his forearms. That last one made Prime shudder.

This was the longest conversation he'd had with Arcee. It always made Optimus nervous to be around femmes. He loved it when they were around, but making conversation with the opposite gender wasn't one of his talents.

Her head lifted and her optics made a not-too-subtle sweep over Prime's strong and attractive body. "Do you want to do it, Optimus?"

His mouthplates swung open. "Uh... _me_?"

The femme nodded, "Sure, why not. You'd have a lot of positive attributes to pass on, and if I need to chose someone, it's only fair that you be selectable too."

There was a crunch as the pointy bits of Prime's head finally went through the ceiling. "Whoops..."

Arcee laughed, "Oh, don't worry, I'll choose someone in my own time. I'll let you know."

"Oh, uh, okay," Optimus removed his head from the ceiling, "Thank you Arcee." Crouching over, he left her quarters.

So now the search was on. Who would Arcee chose to sire her sparkling? She had the choice of Ironhide, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Bumblebee or himself. He didn't know what he'd do if she chose him. He'd be a mess. He guessed they'd find out soon enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Waiting**

**Chapter 2**

Arcee sat back down upon her berth. Did she really have a conversation about sparklings with Optimus Prime? That was amazing... and disturbing... and strange. Had she really volunteered to produce a sparkling? Wow.

She rubbed at the back of her head, gazing at the floor. She'd always wanted a sparkling, it was just that she hadn't known under what circumstances. There had been no way she or any other femme would consider it with the war still raging, but here on Earth; peaceful Earth; with no Decepticons and years of quiet living, it really was a good time to start reproducing if that was one's desire.

Her and Optimus really needed to go over some of the fine details. Like; should the other mech's know she was sizing them up to become a breeder? Or should they keep quiet? What about Ratchet? He would need to prepare a sparkling protoform, as well as examine her to ensure she could safely produce a spark. Should she explain to the others that she didn't want to become sparkmates, instead she wished to borrow them for the 'deed', the private and personal act that would create the sparkling. She already knew she didn't want a deep and meaningful relationship – except for one mech, however, she was trying to keep _him_ out of the equation.

"Maybe I better work some of this out..." she muttered, lifting a datapad from her desk. She drew three columns – one for the name of the mech, another for their 'good' points and another for their 'bad' points. "That's better, much more scientific," she joked with herself.

"Okay. Umm... Bumblebee."

Sifting through her processor's data banks, she lifted out some 'good' points.

Good – smart, brave, inventive, sweet, kind.

Arcee nodded to herself, "That's not too bad." Then she started his bad points.

Bad – Not attracted to him. Young to be a Sire. Inexperienced with femmes.

She was upset with herself for not wanting to use Bumblebee. It was hardly his fault that the 'chemistry' wasn't right. While she wasn't attracted to him, that didn't mean he was ugly. He was good looking in his own right. And what nicer bot than Bee could she find to help her? Even if she thought he would faint if she approached him. The problem with Bumblebee? He just wasn't mature enough for her tastes.

"Next victim... Ratchet."

Now here was a dilemma. She liked Ratchet, she'd like to get her fingers underneath _his_ armor. This was one bot she was attracted to. That body. Those super supple hips, strong male physique and five-fingered precise hands. He was all mech. Nothing sissy about Ratchet. But was he a worthy Sire? Apart from Optimus, Ratchet was one of the most mature mechs on Earth. To have a conversation with him was to talk with interest about any casual topic without his optics straying to cover her female body from head to toe, while knowing that going spark-to-spark with him on a recharge berth would be a very satisfying experience.

Once again, the 'good' and 'bad' columns were lined up.

Good – Attractive, super intelligent (rumor says the sharpest CPU on Cybertron), good body, medical knowledge, dependable.

Bad – Bad temper

There it was. Ratchet's mood swings and tendency to aggressively go 'nuclear' over something that ticked him off pretty much ruled him out. Arcee didn't want a bad-tempered sparkling, and a partnership with Ratchet meant putting up with his angry tendencies if she wanted to be near him.

She sighed and wrote down another name. Ironhide.

The Weapons Specialist was similar to Ratchet. A big mech, roughly attractive (when he wanted to, he had a killer brooding pout), strong, a brilliant fighter, and if she or the sparkling were ever threatened, their attackers would find every weapon in Ironhide's formidable arsenal pointed at their heads. There was also one piece of femme 'gossip' that made Ironhide seem plausible – rumor had it that Ironhide's female conquests were legion. He was supposedly brilliant at satisfying all of a femme's needs; anywhere, anytime. Yes, she could do with a bit of that, thanks! Creating a sparkling didn't have to be a chore, and lying underneath Ironhide wouldn't be a hardship.

Ironhide was also aggressive, but not as bad as Ratchet. Ironhide got angry with Decepticons – and Sunstreaker. His outbursts were warranted and understandable. He also knew how to laugh. Ironhide was becoming quite a good candidate...

Good – Attractive, solid, reliable, superb on the recharge berth, great warrior, loaded with weapons.

Bad – Not the smartest. Lacks finesse. Rough around the edges. Would he take her seriously?

"Ugh," Arcee rubbed at her face, "this is more work then I thought it would be."

She scratched down her next candidate. The Twins. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. She could think of many good points (gorgeous, fun-loving, capable warriors) and some not-so-good (she was sure Optimus WASN'T thinking of Sunny or Sides when Arcee suggested choosing a mech). Out of the two brothers, Sideswipe was the more tame mech. He didn't attract as much serious trouble as Sunstreaker did. Neither liked authority – Sunstreaker was the worst - but they did pay attention when the big guy Optimus had something to say.

Any bot looking at her situation from the outside, would believe she'd chose the most gorgeous mechs; the sports car Twins; but it was much more complex than that. She liked Sideswipe; he was friendly and jovial; and she didn't have any trouble thinking of him sweeping her off her feet, but again - like Bumblebee – she wasn't attracted to Sides as a potential Sire. Sunstreaker; definitely not.

Wheeljack she didn't know very well, he was another one she put into the same category as the Twins and Bumblebee. No innate attraction. She could think of no real redeeming features to chose him over Ironhide or Ratchet. Nice, but not a candidate.

Arcee put down her datapad and let herself lie flat on her back, staring at her Optimus Prime damaged ceiling.

There was just one mech left that she hadn't considered. She had left him till last because everything about him was perfect. Too perfect. Scarily perfect.

Optimus Prime.

Did she even have the courage to approach the Supreme Leader of the Autobot Forces and ask him to mate with her?

Arcee groaned, covering her optics with her hands. She sighed and sat up. Best to keep approaching this problem logically. Make a listing for him too. Her stylus pointer tapped out the reasons 'for' and 'against'.

Good – Handsome, noble, strong, kind, caring, intelligent, mature, dependable, _that_ delectable body

For the bad, she could only think of herself being too nervous to be intimate with him. Sure, most femmes _dreamed_ of having Optimus Prime all to themselves, but the reality might not be so perfect. What if their handsome, illustrious Commander was a dud at joining sparks and mediocre at pleasuring a female? He could be so bad that it would take him several tries to enable her to produce a sparkling... or what if the reverse was true and Optimus was such a hot mech, she'd be ruined for any other mech afterwards, always wanting Optimus on her berth?

Arcee snorted at herself. She didn't have to chose Optimus at all, that's what she was making lists for! Dropping the datapad and scrubbing her hands over her faceplates, she decided to get some recharge. She wasn't due on duty for several Earth hours yet. Perhaps she would follow the old Earth saying and 'sleep on it'.

Arcee's dreams weren't any kinder to her than reality was.

Deep in recharge, she found herself surrounded by the mech's of the base, all of them giving her 'come hither' advances, until one long red and blue arm stretched out and shoved the leering mech's effortlessly to one side. Arcee sighed – her hero!

The huge mech stood at the end of her berth. Staring at her. Arcee opened her arms invitingly, purring.

Using slow, lithe, movements, Optimus Prime climbed onto her berth, inching his way up her body like a predator. Placing one arm, than shifting the other. His sapphire blue optics bathed her with their god-like light, turning her purple armor blue.

The dreaming Arcee arched her body up off the berth, whimpering, eager for the embrace of a proud and strong mech.

Back in the dream, the femme watched eagerly as Prime hovered on top of her on outstretched arms and began opening his thick chest armor to expose his spark. Arcee prepared to be dazzled by the sight of the legendary spark within his chest.

The chest armor retracted fully... revealing a dark chest cavity with a spark the size of an Earth golf ball.

Arcee slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. That was what he'd been hiding behind his armor all these years?! It was miniscule! Frenzy had a bigger spark than that! The spark of the great Autobot Leader was no bigger than that of a sparkling!

Arcee awoke, groaning and wriggling. Oh Primus, she sure hoped the mech she chose didn't have a spark that small. There wasn't much she could do about it if he did. Anyway, small sparks performed just as well as bigger ones. Or so they said...

On her way down the hall to log-on for her shift, she found herself staring intently at the chest of each mech she passed. Was there any way to tell who had a large spark and who didn't?! Maybe she had better revise her list.


	3. Chapter 3

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Since I started writing this _before_ Transformers: ROTF came along, I'm still using Sideswipe in his red Lamborghini form; his G1/G2 persona. No silver corvette bot here, folks! I do think ROTF Sideswipe is very droolworthy, and if Arcee knew HE was around, this fic would be over very quickly! LOL She'd have the poor mech dragged off to her quarters for happy time, no worries! This Arcee is also NOT the ROTF Arcee (as in, three motorcycle femmes). This chapter is also short, sorry. I've got another fic I'm doing at the same time. My brain is overloaded!

**Chapter 3**

Arcee was absorbed in her thoughts, her feet propelled her along the base's main corridor without direction. Every time she passed another bot in the corridors she felt herself asking, _Is he the one? _She wondered what the mech's would say if they knew she was scouting for a sparkling donor. She laughed silently at herself. Never would she have imagined that it would be her responsibility to her species to find a nice mech – a mech with good qualities to pass on to the next generation of Autobots – and produce a sparkling.

Her pace down the corridor slowed as she approached the Command Centre. If she wanted the opportunity to view some of the mech's on her 'donor' list in their natural environment, this was it. Just about every mech passed into and out of the CC during the day at some point.

"Ironhide..."

Optimus Prime's rumbling growl reverberated around the room. The object of Prime's displeasure was standing and smirking near the base entrance.

"I just intercepted a call from the Secretary of Defence about your road manners," Prime said, using his best 'I'm displeased' tone.

"I know, I know... play nice with the humans. Especially the _Government_ humans," Ironhide perched his hands on his hips, his optics peering out at his Commander from under heavy optic ridges, his lower faceplates showing off an under-handed smile, "but even you would've had trouble not running the slaghead off the road with the way he was acting. Admit it."

Prime shunted a discharge of air out of his intakes and shook his head, frowning.

The Autobots latest Government liaison had tried to force Ironhide to give way to him on the road out of the base. He'd driven his Government issue SUV down the middle of the narrow access road and expected the enormous black Topkick to move to the side to give him room to pass. Coming down the road front on to the human's vehicle, Ironhide had moved fractionally to his right, not enough to be off the road, just enough to show grudging respect and allow a 'pass'. The human didn't want that. He wanted the WHOLE width of the road. He'd yelled, waved, honked and kicked up a fuss. So Ironhide did what any self-respecting Autobot would do – he'd lined up his intimidating front end with the offending human vehicle, and shoved it off the road, slowly enough to cause only minor damage to the SUV and not injure the hysterical human. His engine and body had four times the power of the Earth vehicle. It didn't stand a chance. It stayed aft end in the ditch by the road until Wheeljack came to pull him out.

Optimus had winced and apologised his way through an irate phone call from the SecDef over that one.

Ironhide caught sight of Arcee hovering at the back of the room. He flashed a brooding smile her way, nodding at her. "Arcee."

Giving the mech a slight smile, her optics watched his admirable body as he left the room. She really liked Ironhide. In femme speak he had 'the goods'. A powerful physique which bulged and compacted in all the right places, a touch of macho charisma, kindness and consideration were more than just words in his databanks to be scrubbed out – he knew when the situation was dire enough to use them; enough intelligence to do more than just 'grunt' during conversations, and enough self-control to keep his abilities to himself unless called for... such as protecting a sparking femme. Ironhide also had status. He was second-in-command after Optimus. He wasn't technically ranked so high in the overall Autobot ranks, but since those mechs weren't on Earth; and who knew if they were even still alive; so Ironhide really had secondary alpha AND rank status in the mech ranks at the moment.

It went without explanation that Optimus was THE alpha mech.

Ironhide could be clueless sometimes; she recalled the story often passed around of when he had wanted to 'take out' Sam's parents the first night he had arrived on Earth because they were 'very irritating'. He'd also offered to 'terminate' Sam's dog, Mojo... Ironhide wasn't the brightest spark ever produced. But she liked him.

Arcee turned her gaze back to the interior of the room – and found Optimus Prime studying her with an analytical expression on his faceplates. Not knowing what else to do, she shrugged at him. Prime rolled his optics slightly with a gentle smile and turned back to his duties, presenting his broad armored back to her. The femme chuckled to herself. Was he happy or dismayed that she had her optics on his hulking Weapons Specialist? Most mech's didn't consider Ironhide a good 'catch' and they had no idea what a female could see in such a rough and scarred bot, but femmes mostly adored Ironhide.

"Arcee..."

The femme turned automatically at the sultry purr of her name, and brought herself up short at going noseplate-to-armor with Sideswipe's impressive chest.

The red warrior mech braced one lengthy power-packed arm above her head on the doorframe, looking down at her with dimmed optics, "Did you need something?" he enquired gracefully.

Arcee lifted her optic ridges with a puzzled expression. Was every mech here determined to display himself like an Earth stallion looking for a mate today? First Ironhide shoves humans around and then struts around the Command Centre to show up his mechness, and now she had Sideswipe displaying himself in front of her, which was puzzling since Sunstreaker was usually the peacock.

"No, and if I did I could get it myself, thank you." Arcee smiled up at him.

Sideswipe made a humming noise as he looked down at her. He leaned closer, "You're sure you don't need something?"

The femme frowned. This was strange. Sideswipe didn't usually get in her face. Now she was worried. Did he know what she was doing? 'Sides was nice, but like any other mech, if he knew she was actively looking for a mate, he would be jumping out of his metallic hide to get to her first... but how could he know? _Did_ he know?

"Sideswipe," a large silver hand reached behind the Lamborghini's neck and picked him up by his armor ridge. Sideswipes optics widened in surprise as he hung with his feet off the floor. Only one mech had the strength and courage to do that to him. "Do not attempt to hassle Arcee."

Optimus Prime had crossed the floor to grab hold of his soldier and pluck him out of harms way. In his opinion, Sideswipe was acting too much like Sunstreaker. He effortlessly turned the surprised mech around and set him back on his feet, sending him on his way with a light shove. "Move it, soldier."

Arcee blinked at Sideswipe disappearing down the hallway. She craned her head back to look up at Optimus Prime's bulk towering over her shoulder. "What did you do that for?"

Prime dropped his gaze down to meet hers, "He was one step away from attempting to coerce you into inappropriate behaviour. If my mech's do not treat you with enough respect, they will be dealt with by me."

Arcee felt the rapid rise of her mixed emotions flooding her CPU. Amazement. Concern. Disbelief. Worry. Optimus was the one who had authorised her to chose a mech! And here he was shooing away one from displaying his interest in her! She turned around to face him and jabbed one accusing finger into his lower chest (it was all she could reach!).

"Optimus, please listen. _YOU _are the one who asked _ME_ to produce a sparkling, and while I do appreciate your concern with my welfare, producing a sparkling does involve getting close to one of your mechs, so..." Arcee placed both hands palm side down on his intimidating chest and hissed threateningly, "_stop scaring them off_! I can't chose anyone if they're all terrified of getting their aft's ripped off by you!"

The Autobot Commander looked down at the scowling femme leaning against his body. "Oh."

"Oh?"

Arcee froze as another voice entered their conversation. Optimus Prime cringed, covering his face with one large hand, wanting to smack himself. Damn it.

Ratchet crossed his arms and looked askance at both Autobots. "When was someone going to inform me that Arcee is going to produce a sparkling? Or was I only to be told of this happy event when she's ready to spark it on my table?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Waiting**

Thanks for the reviews! And alerts, and favourites. It really gives me pleasure to know people are enjoying reading my writing, that's what I do it for, after all. Cheers! I must also recommend a fic that partially inspired mine - **'Matter of Survival'** by _**StSE**_. It also deals with the subject of the Autobots needing to reproduce and having only one or two femmes to produce sparklings with. I loved it to bits and it definitely needs more reviews! There is a follow-up fic to it as well called, **'Matter of Pride'. **

**Chapter 4**

Ratchet glared at the two Autobots, "Well?"

Optimus Prime bowed his head in defeat. With any other mech (or femme) he would have tried to tactfully cover up the situation – Optimus never lied, but he could tell half-truths and leave out certain things and put the full force of his weight behind it – but he knew that would never work with Ratchet. The bot was far too intelligent, too wise, too thorough, too suspicious, and too cranky. If Optimus was pushed, he would swear that Ratchet was the most intelligent mech in his army. Or very close to it. No bot put things over the CMO.

"Ratchet..." Optimus began, "I suggest we take this conversation somewhere else."

Arcee was looking at Prime expectantly. The massive mech was very put out by his obvious mistake. She had half her CPU fixed on the idea that she would leave all the explanations up to her charismatic Commander, since this whole thing had started with him in the first place, but she wanted to help him. It had been Prime's suggestion that she get with the breeding and produce a sparkling due to his responsibility to the Cybertronian species. Seeing poor Optimus bracing himself and appearing to cringe (Prime never outright cringed, he just looked uncomfortable and very un-Prime-like) made her feel just as guilty as him. They should never have tried this without informing Ratchet and it was anybody's guess how he would react to this whole thing...

"My medbay or your office?" Ratchet's expression was still displeased.

"Your medbay," Prime's head lifted as he decided on a course of action. "We're going to need to be there soon anyway."

Ratchet didn't comment further on Prime's resigned demeanour. He merely nodded at them and strode off, leading the way. Both Optimus and Arcee followed after him. The femme tried to quickly ping Prime's internal comlink but he shut her out, rebounding her query off his firewall, looking at her with a shake of his head. Not now.

With all three of them in the small medbay, Ratchet shut and locked the doors at a command from his systems, giving them privacy.

The CMO stood firmly before them, hands on his hips. In his element. By intention or by mistake, Optimus and Arcee stood in front of the chartreuse Hummer mech like bots waiting for punishment. Arcee wanted to give Prime a swift kick to the groin – it was becoming obvious to her that while Optimus wanted an Autobot sparkling, he was very unsure and maybe embarrassed by what they were doing, and she started to think she should be crossing him off her candidate donor list... if the big guy was so unsettled at merely discussing details, he didn't give her confidence to make her think his performance would improve if he actually did sire a sparkling for her. Would she always have to put up with him shying away?

"Despite what I already suspect, I have more courtesy than you think to scan you remotely and check if you are already have a young one in your chest," Ratchet began, fixing his gaze on the femme. He then stared down Prime, holding his ground, "please tell me you haven't gotten her carrying already."

The direct and loud reply of "NO!" came from both Transformers, Prime's tone deep and forceful, Arcee's just as affronted but more smooth.

"It's not mine, I haven't done anything," Optimus added, backing up with his hands out and shaking his head, disturbed that Ratchet would think he had impregnated the femme already. He wasn't _that_ randy. Arcee was a beautiful femme; there was no denying that; but for Ratchet to think of him jumping on and hammering away at a moments notice was very upsetting.

_Oh Primus..._ Arcee gritted her jaw, watching him. _Don't do this, Optimus, I want you to be a feasible donor. _

"I didn't really think it was. I know what sounds you make when you are busy, Prime," Ratchet stated, pointing one accusing finger at him, "and I haven't heard you lately, so it can't be you."

Arcee choked, bending over to cough. 'Busy'? Optimus made sounds when he overloaded?! What type of sounds? Moaning? Screaming? He was a huge mech. His noises must be huge too. Now she thought of it, Ironhide often made 'noises' in his room across from hers. Oh Primus. She did not want to be thinking about this! Living in a base surrounded by 'busy' mechs at night. So that's what all those grunts were about! Mechs sucked. Femmes definitely did not carry on like that, they had the grace to be quiet with their night-time activities.

"Ratchet," Optimus growled, "TMI."

"Yes, and I have NEI - Not Enough Information. So get with the talking. Both of you." Ratchet glared. "What is this about Arcee choosing someone to have a sparkling with?"

Optimus Prime's optic ridges lowered themselves, shadowing his optics and facial plates. "You know as well as I do that Arcee is _probably_," Prime drew the word out, emphasising its importance while glancing Arcee's way, "the last Autobot femme still functioning. We have waited long enough for new arrivals. The probability of anyone new coming to Earth is impossibly slim, and the chances of it being a female, even worse." Prime shook his head sadly, dimming his optics. "The Autobots cannot continue to stay stagnant with regards to our continued survival. We need to move forwards and since Arcee is our only means of doing so, I have spoken with her about my concerns and she has agreed of her own free will to produce a sparkling. Who she does this with is entirely her decision."

Arcee lifted an optic ridge at him. _Nice monologue._

"Humph." Ratchet's optics swivelled to peer at both of them alternately. "I wouldn't think she would chose anyone but you, Optimus."

Prime had the grace to not turn aft and run. "I am not the only candidate. We all are. Any of us can be chosen."

"Ratchet, I agreed with Optimus to chose a mate. Well, perhaps not a mate as such, more of a partner. Someone to sire this sparkling with me and share the load of raising it. Do you think Optimus is doing something wrong? We need this, the Autobots need this. There aren't enough of us around any more. Are you going to helps us or stop us?" Arcee asked, standing her ground. Subconsciously she stepped closer to Prime's bulk on her right, seeking reassurance and safety.

Ratchet thought carefully before he opened his mouth; not something he always did. "I think you have placed Arcee in a very loaded position, Optimus. If she had said no, she would have had to live with refusing to help her own species in their moment of dire need, a psychological burden that would have crippled her mentally. We are indeed fortunate that she _has_ said yes."

"You agree with what we're doing?" Arcee said, pushing him to state his intentions.

Optimus Prime stayed quiet, only letting his optics move back and forth to watch the two interact.

"Not entirely. Let's just say we really are up against an impenetrable wall whatever direction we chose and something has to give somewhere." He finally gave Arcee a sympathetic and comforting glance, "For myself, I will endeavour to offer any assistance I am capable of giving."

"So that's a yes?" Arcee prodded.

"Yes," Ratchet nodded, folding his arms sharply to signal the return of his 'no slag' personality, "and we should start with a full service exam." He sent Optimus a glare of death, "Something that SHOULD HAVE been a priority, Prime."

Prime rolled his optics, making his hands into fists, muttering, "My bad."

"Of course it is, when isn't it?" Ratchet snarked.

Optimus ignored him, looking at Arcee with an inscrutable expression. He was internally berating himself for not thinking of her being given clearance medically to safely bear a sparkling. Femmes carrying sparklings and sparking them (what the Earth people called 'birthing') was a process not unknown to be occasionally lethal. Arcee was risking her life doing this. It was a small risk, but a risk.

Without looking up, Arcee moved one more step closer to her unofficial protector – Optimus. "Is this meant to be a _full_ exam, Ratch?"

"Yup," Ratchet gave Optimus the thumb, "meaning, please leave Prime before you get an optic full of something you don't want to see – yet, anyway."

"Of course," Prime answered smoothly, choosing to ignore the CMO's inflamed comment. He let his optics stay on Arcee for a moment more, making sure she was comfortable with this, then he left, leaving the room and standing in the hallway while the doors shut and locked. He stood there and unclenched his hands, relaxing his frame. He rubbed at his forehead with two stiff fingers, murmuring quietly "Please Primus, let this work."

Inside the medbay, Ratchet ushered his patient up onto a medberth to lie down on her back.

"Do you want to talk about this before or after I examine you?" he enquired, adjusting the dimensions of the berth to her width to make her feel more comfortable.

"What?" Arcee looked at him, sitting up on her elbows. Confused.

Ratchet paused while shuffling around his bay gathering tools. "About who you are choosing. Naturally, we both know you don't have a mech partner right now. That means you are weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of every mech here."

"Oh." Arcee's faceplates pinched themselves up. "That. It's kinda personal, Ratch."

"I couldn't imagine much else _more_ personal, myself." Ratchet's face was bright under the harsh overhead lights but his voice turned gentle. "Prime is asking of you something that is perhaps not really the role of a military leader."

"He stopped being 'just' a military mech a long time ago..." Arcee said wistfully. "You know he is more than that to all of us. He is our guardian. I'd almost call him religious in the way he takes care of us. You getter better service and faster responses out of Optimus than you ever would from Primus."

Ratchet grunted, arranging his tools. "I agree."

Arcee lay down fully and allowed her armor to be retracted into her protoform or removed for the exam. She was nervous. Ratchet was, of course, the best medic Cybertron had ever produced, but she was anxious about being his subject. For this exam, he would be checking _everything_ – up to and including her femme parts and her spark. She stayed motionless and tried to relax as best she could. It was awkward but necessary. She told her imagination to shut up when it pointed out that if she chose Ratchet, he would already be familiar with her intimate parts.

Finally, Ratchet straightened up from interpreting his scans and physically inspecting her to announce she was in perfect working order.

Nodding at him in thanks, she kept her gaze lowered. While Ratchet had been busy (and hence, not looking at where HER optics were looking) she'd been studying him up close, her optics following the lines and dips of his thick armor, watching his delicate five fingered hands probing and sweeping over her body. He was a very magnetic mech. His presence so close to her was almost overwhelming. Ratchet was a prime example (pardon the pun) of a mech who was aware of his latent 'out there' masculinity and bore it well. Quiet, but powerful; mature, but interesting. She hadn't noticed just how much pulling power he had until he was so intimately close. It wasn't anywhere near as much as someone like Optimus, but Ratchet definitely had his own allure.

"Why did you automatically assume I was going to choose Optimus?"

Ratchet paused, "Excuse me?"

Arcee sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bench, allowing them to dangle while her pink and chrome armor slid back into place around her protoform. She looked up to meet his gaze. "You said you didn't think I would chose anyone but Optimus. Why is that?"

Ratchet settled into a comfortable stance. This was probably going to be a long discussion. "You want your sparkling to have the best chance in life. Optimus is the best at anything and everything that a mech can do. Simple. I've been under his command for a very long time, there is nothing wrong with him that would prevent his sparkling from being anything other than extra special."

"So..." Arcee let a grin flash onto her face, "he's gorgeous and good on the berth, is that what you're saying?"

"Femme," the medic shook his head, "I can do a print out of his assets if that is what you're after."

When Arcee's optics sprang wide, her jawplate dropped and strangled noises came from her vocaliser, Ratchet backtracked quickly, holding up his hands in a splayed out motion to indicate he had not meant to be offensive.

"No, no! Slag it, I was referring to his personality characteristics and physical parameters! Intelligence, strength, design specs – things like that! NOT his interface equipment!"

Arcee looked at him perkily from under her forehead ridge. "Uh huh. Sure you were." She leant forward to where he was standing and trailed a finger down his chestplate and around his big black front nudge bar, "You know, you're on my candidate list too."

Now it was Ratchet's turn to gibber and let his jawplates hang free. "You... I'm... are you sure?"

She laughed at him, "I'm the one making the list. Of course I'm sure." She let herself calm down a bit. "I'm being serious, Ratchet. I'm considering you too. Hey, don't think just because we all know Optimus is so great that means there is no competition. Every mech here has something they do better than someone else, I'm looking for a good match for me, not the most gorgeous and well-endowed mech in the universe. See, Optimus may well be the greatest sparkling producer in this galaxy and beyond, but that doesn't automatically make him the best choice. There are other things I must consider about him as well. You get me? I'm not just doing this for myself, I'm also doing it for the good of the Autobots – us. The sire I pick must be of a certain standard. "

The CMO recovered some of his dignity, "I believe that means by definition that Ironhide is clearly out of the running then?"

She smiled, "Nope! He's on the list too, right up near the top."

"Wha... YOU'RE JOKING!" Ratchet grabbed at the bench behind him to hold himself upright. "NO! That's just... you can't do that!"

Arcee smiled, "That's your perspective Ratchet, not mine. Thank you for the examination. If you find anything significant you'll let me know, won't you?"

She left him in the medbay slamming one hand to the side of his head and cursing while making groaning noises.


	5. Chapter 5

**Waiting**

**Chapter 5**

Ratchet sat at his medbay desk pulling up every last byte of information he had on reproduction in femmes.

It still stunned him that Arcee was considering Ironhide, _Ironhide_, of all mechs as a sire for her sparkling. He'd always classified Arcee as being a very intellectual and well-mannered bot, but maybe he was wrong... Ironhide? He grunted and rubbed at his forehead tersely with his fingers. All things considered, why was Arcee fussing with choosing anyone at all when Optimus was the logical choice? If Arcee picked Ironhide over the Autobot Commander, then she really needed her logic processors over-hauled. When it came down to reproducing for the sake of their species – a statement that still caused him to roll his optics dramatically and wince at the crudeness of it – they really needed sparklings that carried the best genetic traits and programming code and no matter how one looked at it, Optimus was the best choice. He is a Prime, therefore by default he was genetically, physically, intellectually, and socially superior to any other male available. In fact, Ratchet could just about declare that it was IMPERATIVE that Optimus reproduced to keep the 'Prime' line going.

Ratchet sat back in his chair and rolled a datapad pointer around in his fingertips, staring at it, his chartreuse armor glinting under the medbay lights. He really needed to pin his noble Leader down and talk seriously about this. It wasn't normal for Prime to go off with a half-sparked idea in this way at all, so he suspected that the whole breeding thing just wasn't an easy topic for him to think about, no matter how much the big lughead wanted Autobot sparklings.

The medic grunted to himself as he pondered that Optimus had always found it difficult to talk to femmes, any bot watching him nearly bumbling his way around a female could guess that. Oh, he loved them alright, had a soft spot in his spark for them – big, caring mech that he was - but his experiences amounted to peeling rabid femme admirers off his armor while saving them from becoming Decepticon targets. He'd never had time to be romantic, and to Ratchet's knowledge he hadn't actually been attracted to any of them that he knew of. Prime's personal life had always been a closed subject, and he had not indulged himself with members of the femme faction like Ironhide used to. Optimus had never seemed to find a 'special' female for himself and he been happy to gently push any panting, pouting, females in Ironhide's direction, knowing that while the black mech was a randy bot, he was considerate and kind to the femmes, more than eager to give them anything they wanted. A smart decision by Optimus since Ironhide – the slagger – made the femmes forget all about Commander Femme Magnet when the Weapons Specialist got them on _his_ berth.

Ratchet mused to himself, remembering that he had done his fair share of tripping over dazed blissed-out femmes exiting Ironhide's quarters. He didn't want to see Arcee end up the same way. That would be criminal, in his opinion. He growled. Slag it. Perhaps he'd better take an active interest in getting Optimus and Arcee together and keeping them that way?

He smirked. He felt like kissing his favourite wrench. Optimus was going to find himself shoved together with Arcee in any situation Ratchet could dream up...

_**Later that day...**_

"Up a little, Ironhide. No, no, UP, not sideways," Optimus said, narrowing his optics in concentration.

Prime grunted under the weight of the twenty-odd foot of steel beam he was bot-handling into place, holding it steadily at the right angle while Ironhide welded it into position. The beam itself wasn't that heavy – it was the combination of several beams all resting their weight on the one beam he was holding that was taxing his strength. He'd decided that adding a basic but nice outdoor area to the base was a decent enough idea. The humans did it, why shouldn't they? It had been quiet enough over the past twenty Earth years that he was confident it _wouldn't_ be blown to slag in a skirmish (and if it eventually was, nevermind, it wasn't meant to be permanent) and it would be nice to have an outdoor gathering area, somewhere to sit back and enjoy the view of the surrounding desert. Bumblebee had joked that if they made the roof heavy enough and got an unsuspecting Decepticon underneath, blowing out the posts would squash them with very little effort.

"Arcee, would you mind..?" Ironhide gestured with a jerk of his head to the femme, wanting her to hand him an energon blade to trim the beam with.

The femme wasn't paying strict attention to him though. She was standing with her hands on her hips and staring out into the heat of the desert. Her little visit with Ratchet had gotten her thinking.

"Arcee! Femme!"

The female's audios jerked her into motion and she whipped around to stare up at the black mech. "What?"

Ironhide gestured with his head again, his hands busy, "The saw, down there. Pass it?"

"Of course. Sorry." With a guilty look at her inattentiveness, Arcee snatched up the implement and stood on the tips of her feet to pass it up. Ironhide timed his movements so he could quickly grab the saw and balance it on his shoulder while not letting go of the beam long enough for it to fall.

"Thanks."

Arcee smiled sweetly at him and stood back. It was always nice to see the mechs working together and engaged in a civil project; a display of 'normality' that had been impossible when the war had been hanging over their heads. She wouldn't say a word to Optimus or Ironhide about it, but she also viewed it as a perfect opportunity to watch them in action. Of course, she had seen both of the 'in action' literally thousands of times before in battle, but back then, it hadn't been from the point-of-view that she was sussing them out as potential _sires, _mechs to produce a sparkling with. That was different. Now... now she wanted every scrap of information she could get to help with her decision.

"Optimus, hold this slagging post still, it's moving," Ironhide grumbled, wary of the stability of the main structure they were adding onto.

"Sure." Optimus let go of his beam now that Ironhide had secured the other end, and walked forwards to check the post Ironhide was not sure about. With a hiss of hydraulics he crouched down with his knees spread and encompassed the bottom of the post with his hands, checking it by applying some force and guess-timating how secure it was. He tapped it with a fist, tilting his head and frowning, not sure about it.

Arcee's optics widened. She blinked hard. Optimus was face-on to her position so she had a perfect view of the middle of his crotch... and the plating there was being bulged outwards by a very _hefty_ presence behind his armor. There was a distinct round-ended bulge working hard at denting his covering armor. Arcee couldn't look away. She kept blinking while her conscience yelled at her but it was impossible not to stare. The bulge trembled as Optimus fiddled with the post, his thighs rocking with the force. The femme doubted that if she'd been at any other angle, in any other position, that she would have noticed just what was hidden between her Commander's thick thighs. The sunlight was hitting his crotch plating _just so – _giving her a very, _very_ nice view.

Primus. He was ENORMOUS.

A mechs interface was normally retracted within a hollow pelvic space of their crotch. It stayed retracted and out-of-view, not appearing unless the mech willed it to do so, but if a mech was very large, under stress or in the right position (as Optimus was) the rounded head of it could protrude outwards under pressure from the hydraulics in the hips and thighs as the space it was in was compacted, squeezing it into prominence. This was what Arcee was seeing.

There was absolutely no doubt now in Arcee's CPU that all those rumors about the size of their Prime were true. She couldn't see his spark so she had no idea what size that was, but slag it, the other half of him – the bit that really made him a mech – looked perfectly acceptable to her. It took both the spark AND the interface to get a sparkling, and Optimus was innocently showing that he one perfectly acceptable half of the equation. And how.

Pit.

Pit, pit, _pit_.

"Arcee, could you get me the bolt cutter," Ironhide said tersely, concentrating on his work and not noticing Arcee's lack of attention.

Was this what Ratchet had meant by Prime's 'assets'? She'd thought he was joking. Ratchet had to know how big Optimus was, he knew everything, so did he think that if she knew THAT about their Leader, she'd choose him instantly? She snorted lightly at herself. She told herself firmly that it took more than an oversized piece of equipment to impress her... but if that were true, why were her optics still glued to Prime's spread thighs?

"Arcee...?"

Why should she consider that about Optimus anyway? It was shallow of a femme to only think of the width and length of a mechs interface. In truth, whatever size it was didn't matter in the end. Big or small, narrow or thick, as long as it could make a connection with a femmes port that was the important part. She'd never thought much of femmes that bragged about the size of their mechs, it was stupid, mechs couldn't help what size they were. So why couldn't she look away? Was it because of the status of who she was looking at – Optimus Prime, the Supreme Commander of the Autobots – or because he had a big slagging interface?

"_Arcee_! A little help here?!" Ironhide growled with exasperation.

Arcee jumped. "Uh, yes?"

"Bolt cutter?"

"Here," Arcee lifted it off the pile of tools on the ground and handed it up. He took it, giving her a piercing glance with narrowed optics. She didn't react to the strange expression he gave her, staying neutral.

Optimus gave the post one last thump with his fist and got to his feet. "This is no problem, 'Hide. A little more compacted sand should do it if you are worried."

"Eh. Maybe." Having shorn the burrs off the end of the beam and trimmed one stray bolt down to size, the Weapons Specialist stood back and inspected his work. "Should be right to start the roof now."

"Good work. I believe that we will soon have a fit and proper place to sample some high grade and look at the view, just like the humans," Optimus said, his optics twinkling with mirth, walking around the beams and testing their fit with a tug of his hands. "I will have to ask Wheeljack about making some chairs. We could also probably remove a table from the rec room... unless he wishes to make another one."

Arcee flinched as Optimus turned around and presented his broad back to her, the chrome and painted armor covering his awesome frame glinting in the sunlight. Oh, great. Now she was looking at his aft. And legs. _Long_ legs. Primus above. Why wasn't she looking at Ironhide? Didn't she think he was a good prospect before? Why were her optics suddenly all over Optimus?!

"IRONHIDE!"

"Gah! What?" Ironhide shuddered at the sound of Ratchet yelling his name, knowing perfectly well what the fragger wanted when that particular tone was aimed at him.

The CMO walked straight up to the black warrior and jabbed one pointed finger into Ironhide's shoulder, "When were you going to inform me that you wished to re-schedule your service appointment?! I've been waiting for you!"

"What? What appointment? You didn't tell me I had one! I haven't had any alerts, you pit-bred, sparkless -" Ironhide began, gathering himself up for a tirade.

"Shut it. Get your rusted aft to the medbay NOW, before I shoot something off that I won't regret." Ratchet growled, his shoulders rising up and his chest armor spreading out mechanically from his protoform in a threatening manner. "Move!"

Ironhide gave Optimus a confused and helpless stare. The big red and blue mech shrugged back at him. Optimus wasn't going to interfere with this one. The Hatchet might drag HIM in for servicing too.

With a deep grumble and some snarking, the Topkick gave in. He was overdue for a check-up but that was normal procedure for him, he never ran to schedule. Never. Ratchet was always chasing him.

"...purge-colored, under-sized, feeble excuse for a medic..." Ironhide grizzled, stomping away with his hands in fists swinging by his side, the gyros in his canons spinning and whirring unhappily. Ratchet grinned with unconcealed sadistic triumph and followed him, leaving Optimus Prime and Arcee alone together.

Arcee and Optimus looked at each other.

"Who lit his fuse?" Arcee said lightly, crossing her arms and nodding in the direction of Ratchet's departing back.

"He lights his own," Optimus chuckled, extending his arms to the side and stretching out some kinks in his back cables. He rolled one shoulder, feeling it not moving as smoothly as the other. Maybe he'd better follow his Weapons Master to the medbay. "What do you think of the progress so far?"

Not instantly knowing which project he was talking about, Arcee raised her optic ridges at him, "...the sparkling project or the roof project?"

Prime pointed at the posts he and Ironhide had erected and chuckled, "Actually, _this_ project, but I do confess to wondering how the other project is coming along as well. Are you close to making a decision?"

_No, but I should be after that display with your crotch_, Arcee thought wryly. "Unfortunately not. Each time I think I'm close to narrowing my choices, someone does something to make me re-consider. It's not easy."

Optimus made a non-committal noise, rubbing at the back of his head with one large hand. "I could not fail to notice the attention you were paying to Ironhide the other day in the command centre. Was that intentional?"

The femme grinned, "Why, worried I might decide to 'spawn' with him? Ratchet just about glitched himself when I told him that. I know you all think he'd be a terror as a sire, but you are not seeing the qualities that I see in him."

"I can understand Ratchet's reaction," Optimus sighed heavily, a ghost of smile on his faceplates, "Ironhide has always been popular with females. For good reason – he is a natural and very proficient protector, with a good spark in his chest..."

Arcee cocked her head at him when he trailed off, "But...?" she prompted.

"But I wouldn't consider him – how shall I say – the most intellectual of mechs," Optimus replied, making a face. "Even he would tell you that he has a crude processor in that head of his."

"Crude, but logical. And kind. And stable." Arcee said softly. "He says what he thinks without trying to make something out of himself that he isn't, he doesn't cover up his faults or apologise for them. He presents himself honestly to the world. I admire that."

Optimus blinked his optic shutters at her, thinking. The royal blue orbs of his optics were piercing. "Mmm. He is a good mech."

An emotion that Arcee couldn't identify passed over Prime's faceplates. Was he angry? Concerned? Happy, even?

"Do you not like Bumblebee?" the big mech finally rumbled, a hopeful expression blossoming on his face.

Arcee's mouth opened without sound coming forth. She struggled to stop a frown from appearing on her faceplates. Ah, so there it was. "Bee? Yes, he is a very fine bot, it's just that... isn't he a bit young? A youngling shouldn't be having a sparkling, he has his whole life left to live, the responsibility of raising a sparkling of his own is not fair. I couldn't justify doing that to him."

To her own audios Arcee sounded like she was grasping at excuses. She was. It was true that she felt no attraction to Bumblebee and she was trying to tell Prime that without offending him. Now she was cringing. Optimus and Ironhide had raised Bumblebee from when he was an orphan sparkling, naturally Optimus was right to think that Bee was a very good mech. Kind, cheerful, polite. He certainly possessed superior qualities to produce in a sparkling, and Arcee cursed herself for her complete lack of interest in the friendly yellow mech. She didn't want to hurt Prime's feelings, he and Ironhide had done a sterling job of raising the little scraplet from an inquisitive tiny bundle into a friendly, intelligent, talented and admirable Autobot warrior.

"Bumblebee is good... and he is on my list." That was a shaded lie. He was on the list – right at the bottom, just hovering above Wheeljack. Not the position she was sure Optimus was thinking of.

"Good." Prime smiled, moving forwards and clapping a gentle hand on her shoulder in a friendly fashion. "I better go and see if Ironhide has trashed the medbay yet. Please excuse me." His long strides carried his mass quickly away from her.

Arcee watched him leave, not liking the swirl of guilty emotions in her chest. For his sake she would take another look at Bee. It wouldn't be a chore and couldn't hurt, and it may even help clear her processor of replaying the view over and over of Prime's bulging crotch...


	6. Chapter 6

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Been a while since I updated this one! There's a lot of juicy Optimus Prime descriptions in this chapter. Fangirls, enjoy!

**Chapter 6 **

_**Autobot base, Ironhide's personal target range...**_

Whoever had come up with the concept that Optimus Prime was a regal, composed and peace-loving mech had obviously not watched him almost utterly destroy an entire swathe of sparkless-drones on a shooting range in a blaze of ferocious shots. And appear to enjoy it.

Arcee sat perched on a discarded carrying box behind the Autobot mechs with her rifle laid across her lap, watching her over-sized Commander stand on braced wide-spread thighs, one powerful arm cocking his heavy silver-toned pulse rifle up into the sky while he perched his free hand on his other hip, smirking at the carnage he'd just brought down upon Ironhide's carefully prepared targets. The femme was admiring seeing Optimus in action. Knowing that he could at-will unleash such deadly force while still remaining disciplined and aware of his surroundings was an admirable trait. There weren't a lot of mechs that could give such a display without going slightly 'mad'; frothing at the mouth and insane, as the humans termed it.

The femme felt the lenses of her optics adjust to the harsh glare given off by Prime's glittering red and blue armor in the summer sun, his magnificence only marred fractionally by the splatters of mud covering his legs and back. With the Decepticons defeated and absent, the Autobots rarely had a reason anymore to fire their weapons. Not that the lack of practise appeared to have affected Prime's ability to get down and dirty at all. The ease with which Optimus moved and the confident way he handled his rifle would have made her think it was just yesterday that the big mech had been taking down Decepticons – instead of twenty-seven Earth years ago.

"Don't do things by halves, do you..." Ironhide grumbled, sweeping his optics with disgruntlement over his trashed target area. Drones, targets and barrels were strewn from one end of it to the other, courtesy of Prime unleashing his 'talents' in a friendly game. The black mech had been hoping that his friend's aim would be a little off-the-mark. No such luck. He hadn't missed one target. But then, Optimus was a 'Prime'. He was supposed to be near perfect. Slag it.

Optimus fractionally turned his head to send his Weapons Specialist a satisfied glance, his blue optics staring at him around the heated barrel of his weapon. "You said not to hold back. What else did you expect?"

Ironhide grunted, rolling his optics and muttering lots of expletives that went well with 'slag' and 'aft'.

Standing next to Arcee, Bumblebee clapped and whistled his Leader, nodding appreciatively.

"Thank you, Bumblebee," Prime graciously inclined his head at his scout and reached over his shoulder to hitch his cooling weapon onto his back.

Optimus was definitely the mech of choice to cower behind if you wanted protection from the nasty things in the universe. Arcee distractedly rubbed at her forehead. He would make a brilliant sparkling protector... She sighed, and didn't fail to notice that Prime's optics went back and forth in quick succession between the Camaro and her before he returned to studying the mess he'd made of Hide's targets. She lowered her head to stare at her lap, avoiding him,thinking_, Checking out how well Bee and I look together, Prime? _After her Leader's enquiry a few days ago about her feelings regarding the yellow mech, she knew he wanted her to pick Bee. She reasoned that from his point-of-view, Bumblebee was the perfect candidate. Arcee wasn't so sure. There was no attraction on her side for him. No spark of interest. No flutter from her spark.

Yet.

As Bumblebee took Prime's place for his turn at taking out targets, her optics latched onto his high and perfectly-moulded aft, taking note of his smooth and confident movements. His glowing golden armor. His confident demeanour. He was a sports car – a 'muscle' car – and being able to show off came with wearing that disguise. He flexed his legs and bent his arms, checking that his body parts were moving fluently. Arcee cocked her head at him. He really did have a good body.

_Nice..._

When Bee lifted his right arm up in front of his chest, then transformed it into his plasma cannon and moved into an attack stance, she lifted her optic ridges in admiration. Not bad. Standing still, he was no match for the overwhelming masculinity and presence of Optimus – frag it, even covered in mud and smelling of something distinctly horrible, Optimus would still be a mech God - but when Bumblebee began to move... he was starting to get interesting. When he dropped his battle mask into place and his blazing blue optics stared out with deadly intent, her spark did a little jump in her chest.

_Getting better..._

She began to ponder pushing his name up her list. On top of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe maybe? Just under Ratchet.

"Ah..." With a series of grunts and whirring parts Optimus Prime lowered himself down onto his aft to sit with his back against the wall next to Arcee. He grimaced, feeling more than a few aches in his struts and pounded hydraulics after his shooting run. He rubbed one large hand over the armor of his right thigh, wanting to soothe the metal. He could feel the cables underneath over-heating. Time for a visit with Ratchet.

Arcee was distracted by the movement next to her. She found her optics dragged away from Bee and back to Prime. She cursed silently. _Why_ c_an't I keep my CPU off him?!_ Not noticing her dilemma, Prime's intense azure gaze looked out from under the heavy ridge of his helmet armor to watch Bumblebee prepare for his shooting test. He placed his wrists dangling over his spread knees propped up in front of him. His big body was relaxing yet he still radiated quiet absolute authority and power.

To make matters worse (or better?) Ironhide inelegantly dropped his heavy aft down on the other side of Arcee, mirroring Prime's pose. Now she was sandwiched between the two delectable mechs.

...and since both of the big males had their knees spread wide, from her position above them she had a perfect view of their bulging crotches between their open thighs. Optimus had a crotch plate with a higher arch, indicating something big inside, while Ironhide's plates were wider. The mechs had their legs open but Arcee was thinking erotically about having _hers_ open and waiting for one of them to settle between them. She quietly let go with a few oaths and forced herself to look away despite her lusty CPU wanting to glue her optics to places she shouldn't be looking at in public. Her inner voice informed her that if she got one of them in private she could look to her sparks content. She just couldn't win. She blamed Optimus for this with his sparkling talk. If he hadn't brought it up she wouldn't have to be thinking weird stuff like this all the fragging time!

"Get going, Bee!" Ironhide bellowed, waving one black and silver hand.

The moment Bumblebee took one step forward into the shooting area to activate the range, the targets began coming thick and fast.

Arcee couldn't give a crap about the targets. She was resolutely gluing her optics to Bumblebee's body while chanting inside her head, _Forget about Prime, get over Ironhide, stop thinking about interfacing!!_

She got herself calmed down by refusing to look left or right at either mech and instead being a spectator to Bee efficiently mowing down targets in a series of leaps, rolls and sprints. Nice, innocent, _sweet_ Bumblebee. Her _friend_, Bumblebee. Running back and forth. Doing his thing. Being a good Autobot.

But even that backfired. _Strong thighs and flexible hips... _she muttered to herself absently – then froze.

"Stop it!" Arcee hissed, smacking a hand to the side of her head.

Optimus turned his head towards her. "Something wrong, Arcee?"

"No," she responded tersely, her small mouthplates settling into a grumpy pout.

Prime blinked his optic sweepers together with a puzzled expression. When Arcee failed to look at him or elaborate he returned to watching his youngling. Perhaps the femme had something to chat about that required privacy. He'd track her down later and ask.

The determined femme held it together for the next few minutes of Bee's run. She thought she was doing quite well with keeping her leering CPU off the subject of interfacing with any mech that jumped up and yelled 'PICK ME~!'. Bee was certainly a superior warrior. He possessed a wonderful match of experience, intelligence, newly found maturity and exuberant youthfulness that made him enviable on the battlefield. She forgot about the two very male bots sprawled out in come-hither poses next to her and enjoyed simply analysing the performance of her fellow soldier. Intent on watching him and filling her memory storage with bold pieces of Bee's _very_ mechly body in action. She became so embroiled in his display of mech supremacy over lowly targets, that she didn't realise he had finished his shooting run until Optimus tapped her on the shoulder questioningly.

She blinked, shaking her head to clear it of the delectable image of Bumblebee standing in front of her with heat radiating off his hot frame, mud splatters all over his yellow body and smoke curling up from his solar cannon by his side, his optics glowing at her like he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and find somewhere private and secluded while he boldly mounted her.

His facemask was still down, lending him an air of sweet menace and outright sexiness. The mech even had his chest puffed out in front of him, knowing that he'd just put on a perfect display _and_ obliterated his targets. Now _that_ was one hot mech. Mentally, she shoved Ratchet down a slot on her list and placed Bee right next to Ironhide underneath Optimus. Take that, 'Hide!

Ironhide barked a laugh upon observing how speechless she was, then bent down to position his mouthplates next to her right audio, "If you really like him that much I can arrange to have him trussed up and delivered to your quarters for special 'duty'. Do you want him tied to the wall or just left on your berth, hmm?"

"Ironhide!" Optimus said with exasperation.

Bumblebee ducked his head and twittered his optic shutters, pretending to study his over-worked cannon, abashed at Ironhide thinking that Arcee would ever want a plain, normal mech like him on her berth. She couldn't want him... could she? Arcee was gorgeous. If he ever got onto her berth he'd be too terrified to move. He wouldn't want to disappoint her or drive her away with his fumbling.

"Oh, um, yes..." Arcee said vaguely, before fully understanding what the black mech had just said. She jerked her head up, "NO! No, uh, wait. IRONHIDE! Don't be so crude!" she propped her hands on her hips and displayed a miffed expression.

The Weapons Specialist laughed out loud and dealt the Camaro a friendly smack on the shoulder, "Don't worry runt, we'll get you a female yet."

"Why does such a simple thing like shooting drones result in such a pit-fragging mess?!" Ratchet said loudly, his big luridly-colored frame stomping up to them and inserting himself into the conversation. None of them had noticed him approaching. The CMO pointed one accusing finger at Prime's splattered chassis - "Filthy!" - he proclaimed, then moved on to Bumblebee's even worse mess - "Disgusting! Do you lot think I enjoy over-hauling mech's covered in organic sludge? DO YOU?!"

Bumblebee kept his optics resolutely on the ground in front of him. No way was he going to argue with the Hatchet. He'd leave that to his brave Commander. Optimus held up a dissenting finger and opened his mouthplates.

"Don't start with me, Prime, or I'll pull a medical rank over-ride on you," Ratchet warned him, his chartreuse armor almost quivering with indignation.

The Autobot Commander's finger lowered itself. Slowly. His optics dimmed in reluctant submission.

"Right. Arcee, go with Optimus to the wash racks and see if you can clear out some of the sludge clogging up his transform strut under his right fuel tank on his back. I don't wish to perform yet another machining on his shoulder rotor because he can't clean himself properly up there."

Optimus twitched his right optic cover, surprised that in Ratchet's opinion he suddenly needed help cleaning himself. Arcee stiffened at being asked to _on purpose _get her fingers under Prime's armor and clean around his no-doubt sensitive and potentially arousing back strut. The circuit bundles in that area would light up under her inquisitive fingers and make Optimus squirm as his interface systems began to come online. Just like any other mech touched that way, he would be facing a pit of a task to keep control of himself.

Both mech and femme spoke up in protest at the same time.

"I don't need help cleaning myself-"

"We have pressure hoses for that, Ratchet, Prime doesn't need-"

The CMO's optics narrowed and a growl came from his chest as he held up a hand with a pointed finger. The femme and mech silenced themselves. With difficulty. "Did I ask for back-chat?" Silence. "No? Good. Arcee, take Optimus to the wash racks and clean him out. Thoroughly."

Optimus and Arcee exchanged a glance. How on Cybertron were they going to get out of this?

Ironhide looked perplexed, "Why can't Optimus-"

"Shut up."

Ironhide kept going, "But Ratchet, surely-"

The CMO stomped on Ironhide's foot.

"HEY! Ow! Fragger!", the black mech hissed, "What'd you do that for?!"

Ratchet crossed his arms and glared at the Weapons Specialist, "There's an exhaust flush coming your way if you can't withhold your unqualified opinion about matters that you know nothing about. I didn't realise that you held any Cybertronian Medical qualifications, 'Hide, or have you been holding out on me for all these years, hmm? Mouthplates shut, NOW." He jerked his head and waved a five-fingered hand at Optimus and Arcee in dismissal. "You two, leave. Quick."

Optimus Prime had his jaw set in a 'I-can't-do-anything-about-this' clench. With a small nod at the femme standing beside him, he began striding away. Arcee waged a quick internal battle with herself before scowling and following him, her shorter legs increasing their walking rate to catch up to her giant striding Leader.

Ratchet smiled widely. Bingo! All it took to get those two together – and washing each other, at that! - was a bit of glaring and a few threats. Wonderful! With a bit of luck, Optimus wouldn't be able to hold himself back while he was being washed (Ratchet knew that their fearless femme-magnet of a Leader hadn't had a femmes hands anywhere near his body in centuries), and he would have Arcee pinned to the wall while she happily groaned in pleasure and got her carrying a spark sired by him in no time at all. Ratchet was going to have a sparkling produced by their reluctant Commander even if it killed him.

"Ratchet..."

Ironhide's deep growl brought Ratchet out of his musing to find that Ironhide had thrust his faceplates into his and was looking very displeased.

The CMO's piercing gaze turned frosty, "What?"

"_Why_ on Cybertron are you trying to get Optimus and Arcee hooked up together? What are you planning?" Ironhide rumbled.

"Upset because you can't get Arcee onto your berth, you old fragger?" Ratchet smirked, sticking his noseplates into the air.

Ironhide groused to himself – shot Ratchet a filthy look – then stomped away. He wasn't going to get into _that_ argument.

_**In the washracks...**_

Optimus Prime entered the slickly tiled room and halted underneath a row of overhead sprinklers. Jets were also set into the wall to further aid cleaning but he wasn't interested in those just yet. The facilities were a lot more decadent than a normal military base would use, but the Autobots had a lot of downtime to themselves since the war had fizzled out. A signal from his CPU lit up all the lights. He listened to the soft footsteps of Arcee coming up behind him. This wasn't a situation he desired to be in. Being washed by a femme? Didn't Ratchet realise that he couldn't allow himself to get close to femmes because, because; well, he didn't like to describe himself as uncouth, but every mech had needs, and he hadn't done anything to his 'needs' for a very, _very_ long time. This was temptation at its worst.

"I have no idea why Ratchet thinks I'm the perfect bot to clean your shoulder," Arcee huffed, "I can't even reach that high up!"

Turning, Optimus flicked her a sympathetic look then bent down and lifted a small block over next to his feet, setting it down behind him. "Of all of us, you have the smallest fingers to get into my shoulder structure. I would much prefer you doing this than Ratchet since he can get rather rough, and believe me, cleaning is easy compared to machining. That is... painful."

Arcee blinked her optic shutters at him. Her uptight stance sagged. "Oh. Yes. Of course." She met his optics with her own, "I didn't mean-"

Prime held up a hand, his expression softening, "Nevermind. Please," he motioned to the stool, "let's begin."

The femme stood and oggled Optimus' height and breadth for a stunning second, his impressive armor-clad form sending her spark into a fast thumping beat. It was beginning to hit her that she was going to have her hands all over his gorgeous, mechly body. She had permission to _touch_ him. Firming up her expression to be much more workmanlike and serious than awed and nervous, she stood on the stool block and surveyed his impossibly broad shoulders and back. "I think, it would be a good start if we gave you a quick wash and rinse first so I can see what I'm doing." Her finger brushed at his mud-crusted shoulder armor. A shiver of heady anticipation ran through her. Like a static shock. She couldn't recall any other time when she had been this close to Optimus, let alone _touching_ him. "You are quite dirty."

"Yes, I have yet to perfect the art of rolling on the ground and not covering myself in mud," Prime said softly, looking over his shoulder at her. His optics betrayed his mirth. He faced forwards again. "Please start, I'm putting myself in your hands. Do as you see fit." He wanted her to relax. Pit, he wanted himself to relax.

"...Sure."

Arcee managed to get to work by first activating the overhead shower so it poured down over his form and rinsed off the worst of the muck. Cleanser impregnated fluid flowed down his taut physique in veritable rivers and drained into the grates in the floor. It carried away dirt and debris very efficiently. As his flamboyantly painted red and blue armor began to sparkle and reflect underneath the ceiling lights, she swore soundlessly at herself to emotionally keep her distance. She'd always found Optimus to be incredibly attractive – what femme or mech didn't? - but since he'd discussed the sparkling issue with her, she was much, MUCH, more keenly aware of how devastatingly handsome and magnetic he was.

Mentally slapping down her squealing femme instincts that had gone into overdrive, she balanced herself by putting one hand on his shoulder and started attacking his armor with a cleaning brush. By using the utensil rather than her fingers she was able to keep her hyperactive senses reined in enough to get the job done. She scrubbed, brushed, stroked and attacked every last bit of him. Treating him like a mission instead of something to drool over.

Optimus was silent. He didn't say a word to her. Occasionally he sighed and twitched his optic shutters, or gave an appreciative groan of relief when her brush shifted some clogged areas of mud, but he was otherwise... quiet. And incredibly motionless.

With the external brushing completed, Arcee turned her attention to what Ratchet had wanted her to do. She leaned past Optimus and replaced the brush in its holder on the wall, then stood staring at his shining back.

"Which shoulder is it that needs doing?" she enquired politely.

"The right shoulder," Optimus tapped at it with his opposite hand, his long silver fingers touching his metal, "this one."

"Uh huh." Arcee's optics narrowed.

"It has never been right since I last had it re-constructed after the fight at Tyger Pax," Optimus continued, "look," he angled his shoulder forwards so that his plates opened and exposed the cables, struts and joint underneath. With a mental command, the fuel tank on his back shifted downwards. Arcee's optics widened. She was looking into his protoform, a view that only Ratchet or Prime's chosen mate or interface partner would ever see. She felt something hitch and jump inside her chest.

"I-I... I don't... quite see..." Arcee stumbled over her words. Anxious. Tense.

Prime turned his head, his blue optics gazing kindly at her, "Look at the outer casing of the shoulder rotor. There is one patch that is roughened and the dirt clogs up there. Can you get your fingertips in and dislodge it?"

"I can try." Arcee lifted her arm – closed her optic covers for a moment to gather her wits together - and angled her hand into the narrow space, placing her other hand on the back of his neck for support. By concentrating, she was able to slowly remove a lot of the crud. She could feel the strong humming and vibrations of his systems under her touch where his main energon lines came together. It was like feeling his lifeforce. Her cooling fans kicked on. She hoped he wouldn't notice, but being this close...

"Why are you overheating?"

Frag it. Arcee sighed and bent her head, then jerked it back up when she realised she was pressing her forehead into the back of his neck. "Sorry! Sorry." Her spark was pulsing and flaring in her chest. Why couldn't she control it?! She was a mature femme, not some giggling youngling!

Optimus shifted his weight on his feet, angling his body around in a hiss of hydraulics and tensing cables so he could survey her more easily. "Are you alright?" His optics were soft and concerned. His faceplates were alternately shadowed and highlighted by the lights above them, giving him a degree of handsomeness that even Primus himself couldn't hope to match. Her air intakes whistled with the sharp stunned breath she took.

Arcee stared back at him. Speechless. Could he not recognise when he had a female ready to jump his struts and demand a mating?! Was he that innocent? Did he really not know? How could he have a femme leaning on his back wanting to melt inside of him and not understand? She got her answer when Prime's own fans loudly clicked on, and he was the one who was wet and cool from being washed!

A sly grin shaped her mouthplates when he stiffened. The armor over his chest vibrated. A naughty glance downwards over his hefty shoulder showed her that there was a dent in his crotchplate from something very male and very eager down there awakening. For him, there was no covering up the fact that she wasn't the only one turned on by all this.

Question was – what was he going to do about it and would she accept whatever answer he gave?

...and if her 'sparkling donor' list was about to go up in flames, would the tiles on the floor stand up to the beating an excited and powerful Optimus Prime could give them with a femme spread out underneath him?


	7. Chapter 7

**Waiting**

Authors Note: I know everyone has been waiting for this, so I've pounded this SHORT chapter out extra quickly. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I was quite surprised to get so many enthusiastic responses! Reviews are loved and treasured. To those I haven't responded to yet, apologies, I'll get to you in the next day or so. Promise! I love hearing everyone's thoughts. Warnings for graphic descriptions in this chapter. Don't like robot nookie? Go elsewhere please. I debated putting a 'M' rating on this, but I don't think it is that obnoxious. Please enjoy!

**Chapter 7 **

_**Earth, Autobot Base, washracks...**_

Optimus Prime stood tall and watched the small, tough femme in front of him with a concerned expression. It wasn't hard to fathom how both of them were getting worked up by being so close and open with one another. While being as modest and graceful as he could, he knew that females found him to be very attractive indeed. He had been the treasured object of many adoring femmes throughout his time as Autobot Commander, and he also knew that it wasn't just the power of his position or his title as 'Prime' that drew so many admirers. As Ironhide often put it when he had drunk too much high grade (which was often), he was a femme magnet; 'Commander Femme Magnet', to be specific. He was a very handsome and desirable mech. He didn't want to be envied for it. He didn't want his soldiers or anyone else to love him just because he was gorgeous. His looks and charisma usually brought him more trouble than anything else when it came to the opposite sex... and those of his gender who couldn't help themselves.

"Arcee," Optimus began gently, "please do not be embarrassed. I would be more worried if this situation was not affecting you in some way, considering your goal of producing a sparkling." As another fan in his chassis cheerfully and blatantly hummed to life under the direction of his awakening interface systems, he smiled wryly, "I hope I do not need to say out loud what state I am in, also."

The pink and purple femme still wasn't looking at him. She was staring at his ankles. _Damn mech even has good looking feet, for Primus sake! _As she listened to him talking, she turned his words over in her head. So, he was admitting that he was riled up too. Good.

"You know, Optimus," Arcee slowly began, lifting her head and boldly staring up into his face, "I've always found you to be a bit of an enigma when it comes to us femmes."

Prime cocked his head, "How so?"

"Knowing what you look like and who you are, you could have had every femme on Cybertron hanging off you and wanting to worship you. Any femme you wanted could've been yours." She kept looking at him curiously, "But I've never met a femme that has been on your berth and I honestly can't name any femme that has been close to you at all. You just don't seem interested in any of us. Why is that?"

Optimus' optics slid away from her gaze to look at some point behind her. His jawplate stiffened up. He shifted on his feet uneasily. He was under pressure from both his interface drive (which was racing along preparing itself to join with a femme) and his spark (which was excitedly pulsing away in his chest and making him uncomfortably warm). He was steadfastly ignoring both, but unless something changed soon, his firm control would begin to shatter.

"You think I don't like femmes?" Prime said hesitantly, bringing his gaze back to hers.

Arcee shivered. Those gorgeous blue optics of his were going to be the death of her! "Perhaps. I mean, you keep yourself apart from us, and yes, that's your job as Leader to remain detached in some ways, but still," she studied his face, "a mech like you should have been sparkmated long ago."

"A mech like... me," Prime echoed, pondering her statement. "Hmmm."

Arcee began to think she'd gone too far with her loose mouthplates, so she was relived when he smiled softly and his optics brightened. His massive blue and red frame was still dripping fluids all over the floor. His presence so close to her was nearly overwhelming. He was this tall, broad, massively powered, sexy _mechanism_ that was drawing her into him as if she was made to be clinging to his chassis and howling in pleasure. It didn't help that her height compared to his put her face fractionally above where his crotchplate was. In her imagination, she was clawing off his crotchplates and running her hand over the male prize inside...

"Would you consider yourself ready to mate right now?" he asked boldly.

"What?" Arcee's optics shot open. Shocked. "N-now...? Like, now? You and me? What are you saying – you want to? You're willing to?"

A small chuckle rumbled from his chest, "More than willing, I would have thought that was obvious. If you so wished I could indulge your every desire. On the floor? Fine. Against the wall under the shower? No problem. Myself on my back with you on top? Sure. If you prefer to use my recharge berth, that is also an option. Am I being clear about this or should I elaborate further?"

The femme stood frozen. In front of her stood the most desirable male Cybertronian who ever existed, openly offering himself to her with no restrictions. What the...?! This wasn't the way Optimus was supposed to act! Wasn't he shy? Out of her reach? Bereft of any knowledge or experience with how to handle a female? Her knees began to wobble. Without thought, she reached out a small hand and braced it against his midsection between his headlights to steady herself. Realising just who she was touching; and where; she yelped and began to draw her hand back – but was stopped by Prime's large nimble hand closing over her wrist and keeping her there, her palm flat against his metal. Her mouthplates hung open in shock when he gently – ever so gently – slid his hand behind her shoulders and pulled her into him. His metal was hot. It was as if his whole system had just lit up and come alive. He fitted her against his lower body, encouraging her to lean into him and showing no displeasure at the contact he was having with her.

"Shhh. Relax. I mean no harm. If you do not wish for anything to happen, that is your right and I will respect it, but I strongly believe you should know a few things first."

Arcee closed her optics and shivered. His hand was stroking the area between her shoulders where she would hitch her rifle, the other had settled itself behind her hips and was keeping her close. Despite her natural tension, it was nice. It felt way too good to be encompassed by his arms and pressed up against his armored body. It was a place that made her feel safe and protected against the intruding world. Feelings of comfort and arousal began to squash her nervousness. Venting a quiet sigh, she drew her hands up against the metal of his truck grill and leaned in, as content as she could be with her body reacting hard to his mech presence and sending warmth and spiralling desire back and forth between her spark and her feminine valve between her legs.

Keeping her within his hold, Optimus began to speak. His voice reverberated back at her through his chest. "I have been with many femmes, Arcee. Unlike Ironhide, I do not advertise my services or make myself ready and willing to any femme with open thighs and a slick valve. I am capable of mounting you and siring a sparkling for you right at this moment if you so wish, please do not think I am shy, inexperienced," his hand on her hips went lower to touch briefly between her legs, tenderly rubbing her crotch plating, "or a fumbling ineffective lover."

Arcee jerked against his touch, wanting more, pushing her face into his metal and moaning. She was hot enough to consider jumping any bot with an erect spike right now.

Optimus removed his hand from between her thighs and returned it to her back. It made her whimper. "You need to know that the responses you are feeling to my touch are not wholly under your control. Your programming and femme instincts are reacting to my presence and attractiveness. Right now, I could easily convince you to interface with me, and you would thoroughly enjoy it." A sigh came from him. She felt him shift his weight from one foot to the other. "But that is precisely why you _shouldn't_. Your decision to mate with myself, or any other mech, should be made with an unburdened CPU after intense research and much forethought, and not because your interface drive is demanding a spike in your valve."

Arcee squeaked when he abruptly removed himself from being in contact with her. She blinked her optics several times. Her hand reached out to him. Wanting more. "Optimus..."

He accepted her hand in his – meshing her slim, pink accented digits with his strong silver ones - but refused to let her lean back into him. She tipped her head back and gave him an earnest and longing expression of '_Please_?'.

"No femme," he chuckled at her, "I won't join with you." His thumb caressed her forefinger. "Unless you made your decision to be with me _before_ we came into the washracks, hmm? Be honest. Did you?"

Arcee muttered and grumbled, eventually spitting out a response. "No, you are at the top of my list but I haven't made a final decision yet." Her spark was getting _painful_. Here was a mech capable of giving her the most intense overload of her life with no strings attached, and he was saying _no_? Frag it. Frag all mechs to hell! Stupid, ineffective, high and mighty, know-it-all -

"Come, thank you for washing me so graciously," Optimus turned her reluctant body around with his hands on her shoulders and guided her to the exit, "but I must return to my duties. Now, I think it would be good if-" Prime froze as the door opened and an impatient obnoxious mech was revealed standing in the corridor with his arms crossed over his chest. "Ratchet?"

Arcee cringed when a blue beam came from Ratchet's wrist analyser and swept over her midsection.

The CMO's expression changed from hopeful to irritated and flabbergasted when his scan showed a very aroused femme who revealed no signs of interfacing activity and more importantly – no sparkling orb in her abdomen. "You didn't do it?!"

"Didn't do what, Ratchet?" Prime said mildly, removing his hands from Arcee's shoulders and stepping up to the cocky CMO to tower over him. "Clean my shoulder? It is now perfectly fine, thank you for your concern." The Autobot Commander put his hands on his hips and stared the other mech down. "Was there something else you were after?"

Ratchet grunted, growled something unsanitary and stomped back down the corridor, displeased.

"Wow. Well, I think I'm not the only one who needs one pit of an interfacing," Arcee said shakily, watching Ratchet's cranky aft disappear around the corner.

"He'll go and annoy Ironhide, do not concern yourself with worrying about his urges, he will be tranquil and mild come tomorrow morning," Optimus Prime answered, stretching out his arm and rolling his shoulder. Totally unconcerned.

"WHAT?!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Waiting**

**Authors Note: **I STILL haven't gotten around to replying to all my reviews! ARGH! Totally my bad, I apologise. I will make a big effort to sit my dumb aft down and get replies out in the next day or two. Promise! Thanks go to **_cmo-hatchet_** for some of the inspiration for this chapter.

My heart also goes out to my good friend in America over the tragic loss of her Mum who passed away a few days ago. Sweetie, if you're reading this, I wish I could give you a thousand hugs and a soft shoulder to rest on for comfort. Your plight, and your grief, are on my mind, and you are not alone. She was your Mum, and while I never knew her, I share some of your sorrow and despair. My keyboard has had tears on it with me thinking of what you are going through. I hope for the time when you can think of her and smile through the tears. (And yes, I have started the 'wash and wax' Optimus and Elita fic, maybe that will bring you some comfort too!)

**Chapter 8**

_**Autobot base, late evening, Ironhide's personal quarters...**_

Ironhide nearly dropped the datapad he was reading when the door to his rooms burst open without notice and a fuming Ratchet stood growling and hissing in the doorway, his hands clenching open and closed by his stiff hips and his optics narrowed to teeny slits. The Weapons Specialist chucked the damn pad away altogether when the CMO dived onto the floor and began rummaging around under his recharge berth.

"RATCHET! What the...?! Hey, I'm _on here_, you know!" Ignoring him, Ratchet kept searching under his berth. "Medic, you have officially lost your chips! Get OUT of there!" Ironhide bellowed, sliding off his compromised recharging platform while Ratchet kept grunting and looking for something.

"Where is it?! I know it's here, it's always here – A-HA! Got it." Ratchet's off-green aft slithered out backwards from under the berth and he got to his feet, a few thick but old datapads held tightly in his five-fingered hands.

"If you wanted those you could have just asked instead of scaring the slag out of me," Ironhide grumbled, folding his arms and giving his friend a glare of his own. "What's set you off this time?"

Ironhide was the greatest collector of all things erotic and banned concerning interfacing that the Autobots had ever known – and that included Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Whatever species, whichever gender, any interfacing kink that existed in the universe; he had hard copies of it. The mechs closest to him that he called his friends often dropped by to help themselves to something special from his library when they were completely stressed or merely needed to make their off-duty time more fun, Cybertronians were not as secretive and hush-hush as organics were about such things, sharing material was not such a risque thing to do but it wasn't encouraged. Optimus Prime knew about the secret exploits of the black mech, and he mostly looked the other way. He would never be mean enough to clamp down on the intimate activities of his soldiers by confiscating such material – he had never looked forward to checking underneath the berth of every member of his crew, so generally, he by-passed inspections like that on the firm proviso that all of the data in the collections was legal, over-age and contained consenting bots or organisms. Other than that, he kept his regal noseplates out of it.

Ratchet frowned, "Optimus. He needs a kick up his pompous aft delivered by someone the size of Unicron." He waved the porn datapads under Ironhide's noseplates, "I'll bring these back-"

_::Ratchet, where are you?!::_

The CMO growled, immediately recognising Arcee's voice signature and answering his comlink on an open channel. He couldn't be bothered switching to internal frequencies. "With Ironhide. Why, what is the matter? Do you need help?"

A feminine gasp spiked out of his comlink. _::If you're doing anything to his aft that you shouldn't be, I'm taking both of you off my list!::_

Ratchet screwed up his noseplates, his stressed processors completely clueless at that moment as to what Arcee was yammering about, "List? What list?"

_::The 'Siring-A-Sparkling-With-Me', list! What other list is there, you pit-spawn! And you had no business sticking your rude faceplates into what Optimus and I were doing, I know you set us up, you fragger! That was cruel!::_

Hearing Arcee's upset voice come thundering out of Ratchet's comlink, Ironhide's jawplates dropped. His optics went wide. Ratchet echoed him. Both mechs had an expression of shock. Ironhide, because he wanted to know why the pit Arcee was compiling such a list, and Ratchet because the femme had just blabbered all to Ironhide's perky audios.

"Wha... who... why..." Stuttering and stammering, Ironhide turned face-on to Ratchet, snatching back his contraband material with one quick swipe, "what the slagging pit is that femme yammering about, huh?! What's going on between her and Prime about sparklings?!"

:_:...Ratchet, you've put me on an open channel, haven't you?:: _Arcee spoke hesitatingly after a brief loaded silence.

Ratchet sunk his faceplates into one spread hand, groaning. All he'd wanted to do was get his Commander to produce a nice, happy, bouncing, 'Prime-line' sparkling. How the freaking hell had his sweet and earnest plans come to this? He'd inadvertently given his secretive plans away to Optimus and Arcee when he'd been waiting outside the wash racks, Optimus had refused to mate with the aroused and panting femme clawing at his chest, and now Ironhide knew what was going on as well. Brilliant. Marvellous. Slagging _wonderful_. He wanted to hand in his medical qualifications and become someone who played with plants. A florist, the Earth people called it. It sounded like such a nice, relaxing occupation. Less idiots to deal with.

"Arcee, I will deal with you later." Ratchet cut off his comlink when Arcee retorted back at him with a loud shriek of anger. Then he turned to Ironhide and put on his best 'I'm-in-charge-here-so-don't-you-fuck-with-me' expression. "You," he poked one pointed finger into Ironhide's black armored chest and kept it there, "keep your stupid mouthplates shut about this. You weren't supposed to know what was going on."

"... and what IS going on, medbot?" Ironhide said in a hard tone.

The CMO debated various arguments with himself in a flash of a microsecond before deciding it could be to his advantage if Ironhide knew the facts.

"Optimus and Arcee have come to an agreement that she will bear a sparkling for the Autobots because she is the last femme we have. A sparkling to be sired by one of us, for better or for worse. Since she has no romantic attachments to a mech currently on Earth, she is choosing carefully which Autobot mech she will use as her partner."

Ironhide fumbled over that explanation for a brief time period. Arcee wanted a sparkling? She wouldn't do it if Optimus ordered her too, she was too much of a free-spark, so she must really want one. Hmmm. He spoke matter-of-fact tone, "She's making one of those silly lists that females like to play with, and we're on it."

"I presume we're all on it, 'Hide," Ratchet huffed, gesturing widely with one hand. "I don't know why she's starting a list at all. Optimus is the most obvious choice for this task. If he doesn't do it, where is our next Prime going to come from? He must produce a descendant."

Oh yes. All was clear now. Ironhide rolled his optics. Ratchet was trying to force the big lughead and the fire-sparked femme into being together, that's what all the 'go to the wash racks' drama was about. Right. Well, he could see some clauses to that little dilemma of forcing Optimus to get with the interfacing.

"Is Arcee having one sparkling, or two? Three, perhaps?" Ironhide asked seriously. "One isn't going to do anything for us. You can't make a new generation with _one_ sparkling. What if she produces a mech? We don't need more mechs, we need reproducers, which means more females. You can't think she's having one and only one, that's wrong."

"You're not freaked out by this," Ratchet stated, amused that Ironhide's usually limited processing capacity was working at a higher level than usual. The black mech was making a surprisingly valid point. Arcee would need to have more than one sparkling, which could mean she would need to use more than one mech as a Sire. Her list really meant who was going first. His chest puffed out at that thought. Optimus could be first, then he would be next. Sounded like a good plan. Unless Prime got possessive and wouldn't allow another mech near her.

"I'm freaked out by the thought of you siring this brat!" Ironhide smirked, "I mean, slag, Arcee deserves to have a good-looking sparkling that knows how to shoot straight, and I don't want to be around an aft-headed pit-spawn botling straight from the pit that wants to chew my ankle joints off while beating my head in with a wrench."

Ratchet's faceplates drew themselves inwards in a furious expression, "What! I am NOT ugly, you dim-witted drone, and the Autobots don't need a sparkling that can't articulate words into a basic sentence, and spends its time drooling in a corner while shooting the ankles off anything that passes by!"

Ironhide held up his contraband datapads that he'd taken off Ratchet and gave his friend a sick smirk. "You won't need these if you're looking for practise because you think you'll be the one Arcee chooses, she won't be asking you for anything."

"I know how long you've used those things, Ironhide, but I still don't think you'd know how to treat a proper femme like Arcee, or be able to get her carrying a spark," Ratchet shot back, putting on a devious grin of his own, "she's not a pleasure bot, you know."

The armor on Ironhide's chest and shoulders rose up indignantly, "Why you little-"

A knock on Ironhide's door interrupted them. Followed by the door opening without Ironhide giving permission. Both mechs stiffened when an unhappy-looking, pink and purple armor clad Arcee was revealed to be standing in the doorway.

"I heard all that," Arcee said lightly, lifting her chin into the air and planting her hands on her petite hips, "you two carrying on like this is the perfect example of why I didn't want any mech besides Optimus to know what I was doing. You all revert to being over-energised younglings squabbling over their first interface." She pointed one hand at Ironhide's berth. "Sit."

Ratchet opened his mouthplates, "Arcee, I don't think we're-"

The uptight femme hissed and made a reaching motion for the rifle hitched upon her back.

Both mechs sat quickly and wordlessly. One on either end of Ironhide's recharge berth. Both looking glum.

"You," Arcee leaned into Ratchet's face to make her point, "stop trying to match me up with Optimus, I'll chose who I need and who I want without you trying to get Optimus between my thighs because of your own agenda. My interface drive is MY business, not yours." She took a step sideways to stare into Ironhide's face. The big black mech appeared contrite. She huffed. "And you - if I do chose Ratchet, I expect you to be gracious and cordial about it. He has many qualities that I think of as desirable in a sparkling." When Ratchet sniggered in victory at Ironhide, she punched the CMO in the shoulder. "Stop that! Ironhide also has talents that I think would be good in the next generation of Autobots. You're on equal standing with me at the moment."

When both mechs settled down into sitting quietly and not making faces or sounds at each other, Arcee nodded.

"Thank you. I hope not to have to repeat this talk to you again. It also goes without saying that the other mechs do NOT need to know about this. Agreed?"

Ironhide mumbled 'yes' while Ratchet nodded silently in understanding.

"Thank Primus for that... oh, and one other thing. Are you two involved?" Arcee asked with sweet menace, moving her optics back and forth between the large mechs.

When Ironhide bent over and made a choking noise like he was trying to retch up the contents of his tank, and Ratchet had a horrified wide-optic expression like Optimus had just driven his huge truck form over his favourite wrench and broken it, Arcee was satisfied that they weren't humping each other. She would have been very upset to have struck off both mechs from her list if they were. She didn't have anything against mechs being with mechs, Cybertronians didn't, she merely did not want to break up a relationship or cause problems for the sake of producing a sparkling with one of them and not the other.

Arcee vented a sigh, "You have no idea how much of a relief that is to know." With one final glare of 'behave', she turned on one heel and left. She encountered a curious Optimus Prime coming down the hallway towards her.

"Is everything alright? I heard raised voices," Prime said, halting and looking down at her with a befuddled expression.

"No problems. Nothing a little femme straightening-out couldn't fix, but thanks anyway. You're a very caring mech, Optimus," Arcee reassured him, giving him a pat on his chest. She walked around him and continued on her way.

With no one looking to see, Optimus gently put his hand over the place on his armored chest where she had patted him. His optics dimmed. Thinking.

Back in Ironhide's quarters, Ratchet and 'Hide were still sitting on his berth.

"Here," Ironhide held out one the datapads to the CMO, "take it. I think we both could use it at the moment."

Ratchet allowed the black mech to slip the pad into his hand. He stared down at it, turning the pad around in his hands. "You know, seriously, if Optimus has a sparkling, you'll be the main mech keeping the little bot from being destroyed by any rogue Decepticons who find out about him or her. You're Prime's bodyguard," he said quietly, "you'll be in the firing line. I know you. You'll sacrifice yourself to save it."

"I know," Ironhide shrugged. He knew what his friend was saying. "Any Autobot sparkling would be a target." He lifted his right arm and spun the stabilisers and firing chamber of his arm-mounted cannon. "Why do you think I love these so much?"

"I thought it was a representation of what's between your legs," Ratchet said dryly.

_**Prime's office, a few days later...**_

"Optimus?"

The Autobot Commander glanced up from the latest round of American government missives he'd been burdened with. The humans may have short life spans and still-evolving CPU's, but they knew how to talk more than Bluestreak ever could, and they loved regulations more than Prowl did.

"Arcee." Prime smiled softly. "Please, come in."

The femme stepped past the doorway, glanced behind her, then quickly slid the door shut. Prime raised a curious optic ridge. It was going to be one of _those_ talks. He set aside his paperwork and gave her his whole attention.

When Arcee had settled herself into the chair across from him, she looked down at her lap, her hands entwined together. Her personal time with Optimus in the washracks with her hands all over his body had surprisingly made her more nervous of him, not less. Yes, she still wanted to interface him senseless and if he even looked at her with a mild 'come hither' glance, she'd be on her back expectantly with the biggest grin ever on her faceplates, waiting for him to take her. Right now, she had things to discuss with him that didn't involve him finally revealing what he had hidden between his mighty upper thighs.

"Ironhide knows." She lifted her head slowly, meeting his gaze. "I was talking to Ratchet, and I guess I didn't stop to think who was listening in to his comlink, and..." she made a face, "I blurted out about something I shouldn't have. So now he knows." She held up a hand to stall him when he parted his mouthplates, "Don't worry, I've sorted it out with them both. I've explained that I'm considering them both equally and they shouldn't bicker about it."

Optimus Prime blinked his optics at her. His head turned sideways to glance absently at his paperwork while he thought. "What was it that gave you away? What did you speak about?"

Arcee stiffened. She had been trying to avoid telling Optimus about her infamous list, she didn't know how he would react to it, and in front of the Supreme Autobot Commander it felt very infantile to her to describe how she was rating his mechs in order of preference on a list. "I said... I said," her optics dimmed as she accessed her databanks for the exact sentence, "If you're doing anything to his aft that you shouldn't be, I'm taking both of you off my list, the 'Siring-a-sparkling-with-me' list." There. She'd said it.

Prime cocked an optic ridge up. Then his mouthplates produced the mildest smirk such a regal mech could cordially muster. "Hmm. 'Doing anything to his aft' – did you mean in interfacing terms?"

"Yes." She grimaced. "Unfortunately."

"Ah." The big mech shifted his chair backwards so he could lift his leg out from under the desk and place his ankle on his knee. "And were they?"

"No! Pffft! Thank Primus for that," Arcee shook her head, "if they were, it would explain all the fighting they do though. Couples do that."

"They do. I must confess that is one part of being mated that I do not look forward to." Prime placed his hands on the armrests of his chair, tapping one finger slightly.

Arcee tried not to let her eager optics rove up and down his enticing broad torso across the desk from her too much. She didn't want to give away how interested she was in him, and how much he affected her more than he already knew after the episode of her washing him. Those wide shoulders, the gleaming red and blue armor, his thick chest curving down to his narrow waist, those incredibly powerful long arms that could equally deal out unbelievable force or encompass a femme with a soft intimate hug...

"This list, are you truly rating us all according to how you see us?" Optimus asked. "Please don't mis-understand me, I am merely curious. I was wondering how you would decide which mech to chose."

"I... am rating everyone," Arcee admitted, "but don't worry, the rank changes from day to day. I watch what everyone does, how they behave, and compare them." _Except for you, Boss! Why can't you do something 'imperfect' for a change?_

"Fair enough. Well then, is there anything I can do to help you?" Optimus met her gaze with his own, truly wanting to help her out. He knew the task she was facing was putting her under heavy emotional stress, he didn't like her to think she had to take everything on herself, in spite of the intimate nature of what she was doing.

"No, no." She sighed and leant her head back to stare up at the ceiling. "But I'm warning you, when this sparkling arrives I would like a roster drawn up between everyone here to help me look after it. If the others think that I can do everything for it by myself, they've got another thing coming!" Arcee leaned forward and tapped a finger on his desk, "I'm serious about this. While I'm positive everyone will love the sparkling, I might need your influence to convince them to diligently help me with the raising, okay?"

"You have my word that the task of caring for and raising your sparkling will be shared among us," Optimus inclined his head, "I will not tolerate anyone shirking their duty."

"Thank you."

Once Arcee had left, Optimus excused himself from the base and took a drive to the old Outlook in Tranquillity. He transformed in the darkness of the night and sat down upon his aft near the edge of the cliff, looking up at the night stars. He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his elbows upon them, feeling a whole lot more at peace than he had in a long time. But there was something else that was weighing on his spark. It wasn't a bad thing, just something... new.


	9. Chapter 9

**Waiting**

Authors Note: I have many, MANY reviewers to thank for all of the lovely comments made for this fic. I have already replied to many of you, but I haven't gotten to everyone, so many reviews keep rolling in for this fic, and my other stories, and I can't keep up. So here are some special mentions – _**cmo-hatchet**_ (comments that make me laugh and give me yet _more_ ideas), _**flamingmarsh**_ (you darling, everything I write gets a review from your way! Thanks!), _**Black Oracle**_ (intelligent and friendly banter, yes, I will review yours soon too!), _**optimus prime 007 **_(still worrying about you, hope you're okay), _**Borath**_ (I read your fics to give me a push along, hope mine do the same to you! Loves ya!), _**Fantasyfan4ever**_ (keep it up, girl!), _**Plenoptic**_ (one day soon you'll be taken away by men with white jackets, but I'll save you! LOL), _**buddhabread**_ (thanks for the comment mate!), _**Shizuka Taiyou**_ (you always have something to say, and it's always complimentary – ta!), _**fantasyaddict101**_ (good God, you make me laugh! Keep it coming!), _**Cornelia.J.H**_ (glad to have you on board!).

Lots, and LOTS of other friendly people too – _**Aozoran**_ (my fellow aussie friend and a brilliant writer - I haven't forgotten your cupboard fic mate!), _**starwarsfreak101**_, _**ElitaOne**_, _**steelcrash**_, _**Gixxerpilot**_, _**Botosphere **_(lurrve your fics too), _**theshadowcat,**_ _**Dragonball-Gal, Fields-of-Heather, Bunnylass, magnusrae, saberfrost**_.. sorry to leave anyone out, I'm about to faint over my keyboard here! Tired and exhausted. Please enjoy the next chapter. It's a long one too! I'll try and put a poll up on my FFN profile for voting which mech Arcee should be with.

**Chapter 9 **

_**Autobot Base, USA, Optimus Prime's quarters...**_

When the door to his private rooms quietly shut behind his massive frame, Optimus Prime took a moment to shutter his optics and shunt a sigh through his air intakes. He lifted his right arm and rotated his shoulder, placing his other hand over the joint and feeling the smooth movement of the carefully cleaned parts, courtesy of Arcee – and Ratchet, oddly enough, since he had practically ordered the femme to clean him. He had enjoyed his time with the pink and purple femme. It had been nice. A small supremely arrogant part of his self esteem crowed to him that it was about time he'd displayed his superior 'mechliness' without any hint of his usual passion-killing modesty. In some cases, at special moments, choosing to admit and display his experience when it came to intimacy with females was a damn good stroke to his ego. Slag Ironhide and his 'accomplishments', Prime knew he could take on the older mech over the topic of satisfying femmes, and win hands down if it came to it.

He lowered his aft down onto his recharge berth, feeling the large platform creak as he did so, glancing over his shoulder and staring down at the empty expanse of his berth. A berth that was more than capable of cradling him and a slender curvaceous female in recharge. He could lower her down onto her back, balance himself on top of her, slide his hands over her armor, soothing her nervousness and getting her to relax and open up to him... coaxing her to rumble a purr of need for him... watch her head fall back and a 'yes' come from her mouthplates while he trailed his fingers down her throat and onto her chest... and further... letting his weight settle atop her while her legs moved apart around his hips...

His optics flared and he turned his head back around sharply. It was best to think of this in technical terms. Practical terms. He ignored the throbbing of his spark and groin.

If Arcee chose him, this is where they would be lying together, since he couldn't even stand up straight in her quarters without his head slamming into the ceiling, nor did he want to use her berth with bits of him hanging over the edge. It would feel strange to be with a femme after having spent so many years without one. His berth had been 'dry' for a long time. Now that he was thinking about it... what would it be like to spark a new life with Arcee? To have her bearing his sparkling? Would she still consider him her Commander? Would he have the right to think of himself as her lover? Or just a male with the right equipment for her task, a mech to be with for one time only and then mostly cut off from her? The humans bred their domestic animals in a similar fashion. When males were used to impregnate a female, they were referred to as 'studs'. Ironhide would be greatly amused to consider him as such a thing. The best studs even charged a fee for their services. He shook his head at himself, smiling lightly. There were so many questions and scenarios to consider...

On the more intimate side of things, would she want to recharge here with him, permanently? Or would it be a one-off kind of deal, where they would be together once to create the sparkling, then she would spend the rest of her time in her own quarters, doing her own thing. That didn't sit right with him. The feelings in his spark told him that if he got a femme was carrying his sparkling, her welfare, comfort and protection would then be his responsibility. He would feel restricted in his ability to help her if she wasn't in his quarters full time. Indeed, he would be deeply concerned if she kept herself apart from him. His spark pulsed painfully in his chest at the mere thought of it.

Optimus lifted a hand and rubbed at his optics. He knew he shouldn't be worrying about any of this yet, Arcee had still to make her choice. He could have so easily taken her in the wash racks. He knew that. So did she. No one would have questioned his right to do so if he had caved in to his more primal instincts, held her up against the wall and given her the fragging of her life – afterwards, the other mechs would have been nodding appreciatively at him in the hallway and giving him the thumbs up - but while her body and programming may have been screaming for him to mount her, without her FULL consent at a time and place when she was _not_ aroused, he refused to touch her.

He rested his hands in his lap, his gaze absent-mindedly taking in the powerful curves and latent strength of his thighs and lower torso, the brightly painted metal covering his underlying protoform. Many mechs – be they Autobot or Decepticon; Autobots were just more gentle and kind about it – considered it their right to do what they wished with an eager femme. In that respect, despite the advanced technology and longer life of their civilisation, they were very much like the males of any other species, unfortunately. He thought of himself as much more considerate and caring than that.

With a deep sigh and several clinks of this heavy armor, Optimus reached over his shoulder and removed his concealed rifle from behind his back armor (he could recharge with it on his back but it wasn't the most comfortable thing to do) and placed it on the wall mounts next to his berth, then stretched out on his back and tucked his hands behind his head. Thinking.

_**Later that week, on the weekly supply run into Tranquility...**_

Ratchet pulled a right turn into the carpark of the local Walmart store, prowling the carpark until he found a trio of free spaces that could comfortably accommodate the vehicle forms of himself, Ironhide and Arcee. Once parked, the CMO's holoform flared into life and exited the door of his lime green Hummer self with an assured hop.

"Anyone coming along?" Ratchet asked companionably, already expecting a whole lot of snark from Ironhide (he NEVER came into the stores unless the pitiful gun shops had something advertised that he wanted to grunt and poke at) and knowing that Arcee usually only came along to be sociable meant she was unlikely to follow him. She probably had too much on her CPU at the moment to let her concentrate on being communal with her holoform.

"Get what you want and be quick about it," Ironhide's rough-and-ready male holoform appeared out of nothing in front of his Topkick self. He leaned his dark jeans covered butt onto his front bumper bar and hitched one booted heel over his winch, crossing his heavily muscled and deeply tanned arms over his broad bare chest. "And no window shopping."

Ratchet glared at him. "A human could have seen you doing that, slagger! Tint your windows and appear inside your cabin!"

Just to frag Ratchet off, Ironhide materialised a big black cowboy hat onto his head, and pulled the brim of it down over his eyes haughtily. "No squishies saw me. Stop fussing, old mech."

The blue Lotus Exige sports car in the slot next to Ironhide shook on its wheels. Then the door flicked open expertly and a pair of long slender legs in heels topped by a mini skirt slipped out. Arcee's holoform head popped up above her door, and she pivoted expertly on one heel. She shut her door, standing up and giving Ironhide a glare. "Ratchet is right, you take too many risks, Ironhide." The femme smoothed down her skirt with her hands, sending the arrogant mech a filthy look. "I'm good, thank you Ratchet, we'll wait here for you. Go on ahead."

Shaking his head, Ratchet stalked off across the car park heading for the entrance of the Walmart. His holoform was almost as bulky as Ironhide's, but he did dress in loose fitting jeans with sneakers and a simple t-shirt shirt tucked in at his waist. Despite his lacklustre clothing, there was no hiding his good looks. Several women paused mid-stride to turn their heads and eye him off in several shocked blinks. He had the whole 'trustworthy doctor but devilish looking' thing going on.

"What's with the bare chest?" Arcee put a hand on her hip and cocked her head at the Weapons Specialist. He had a nice chest, powerful, and very mechly, but he should have been fully clothed.

From under his cowboy hat, Ironhide's human eyes flashed darkly at her, a roguish smirk on his face from ear-to-ear above his hard jawline. "...No reason."

"I suppose since you are not going into the store, it isn't too much of a problem. Unless someone complains," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "THEN you'll be in trouble with Prime."

"I might be half naked but I'm in good company, femme. That top of yours isn't so modest either, it's so tight you may as well be topless too," Ironhide drawled, letting his eyes give her the once over. He appreciated females in whatever form they came in. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, rippling the six-pack of muscle on his abdomen, "Anyway, when it comes to our fearless leader, I'm always in trouble with that do-gooder. No difference."

It was true that Arcee didn't look exactly family friendly either – she was wearing a _very_ tight top showing deep cleavage down her front - but heck, why would Cybertronians care when they didn't place that much value on a huge female chest. True, femmes did have a distinct bulge in the armor of their upper torso, but that was because of the reproductive equipment hidden inside (the sparkling carrying chamber), and mechs placed no physical or anatomical significance on how big the bulge was.

Arcee growled lightly at him, then echoed his position by walking in clicking heels to her car hood and sitting back on it. Her eyes scanned the car park, always alert to trouble.

A group of skinny delinquent male teenagers with their pants hanging off their bums came down their row, back-chatting to one another and letting our drawls of 'yeeaahh!' when they passed a hot car. When they caught sight of Arcee they puffed themselves up and threw their heads back, words of 'Check that out!' and 'Hey baby! Be mine!' appearing on their lips. Ironhide materialised a holographic rack of loaded shotguns leaning on his back window from his tray, and coughed loudly. The boys took one united and horrified look at him and deflated themselves rapidly; the Topkick, the shotguns, the tall shirtless menace with bulging muscles and cowboy hat; it was too much. They ducked their heads, walking quickly away from them. They weren't going to tangle with a dude like that.

"Ironhide..." Arcee shook her head, a smile on her face despite herself.

He smirked moodily at her. "What? The guns are legal, even if I'm not."

The femme put her hand over her face with a long groan....

…and mentally pushed Ironhide up to the top of her list next to Optimus. She couldn't resist. He was so entertaining, and sadly adorable.

Arcee wriggled herself back on top of her own hood, shucked her high heels (they evaporated) and rested her arms and head on her knees. She could watch the antics of the 'mother' humans a few rows down, the women with children using the parking spots reserved especially for them. Being a prospective new mother herself, she was most interested in two things – one, the pram contraptions the women used to ferry their offspring around, and two, the big rounded bellies of the women who were pregnant.

Prams were something Cybertronians didn't use for their newborns, although looking at them Arcee had to wonder why, since new sparklings were unable to walk, and could only crawl in a very poor fashion. Some of the human mothers were using slings that hung over their shoulders or chest to carry their babies. That concept she was familiar with. A sparkling was much stronger than a human baby, and was well capable of gripping any piece of its mother's metal body and hanging on for a lengthy time period, even locking its arm mechanisms and recharging that way too.

The Cybertronian femme watched one very pregnant woman struggle to heave herself out of her car, eventually standing up tall and puffing for air, rubbing her protruding belly with one hand while the other massaged the small of her back. This was one aspect of bearing children that Arcee was gazing at with rapt optics. She would be carrying her sparkling in a position just a little higher up in her chest than the humans did, in a spot midway between her lower belly and her upper chest. Her armor would definitely bulge outward but not to the same extent as the women she was staring at were. Cybertronian femmes only showed a soft hump in front – nothing like the alien looking _huge _burden she was staring at. This was so interesting.

Arcee looked down at the belly of her holoform and rested her hand over her abdomen, imagining what it would be like to have a big belly with a child growing inside of it. Rather cumbersome. Not thinking logically about her actions, she experimentally re-arranged her holoform appearance by pushing out her stomach, making it abnormally huge and round. Studying it curiously. Petting it.

"What the pit are you doing to yourself?!"

Arcee lifted her gaze to Ironhide at his sudden exclamation, "What? OH! Sorry..." She quickly deflated her abdomen back to its original pancake state. "I was just... musing."

Ironhide's eyebrows lifted themselves up to disappear under his cowboy hat, "I make holoform guns, you make holoform sparklings." The mech glanced back at the pregnant human woman toddling about in the car park. He turned his head back and sent her a piercing look. "I think this whole 'have a sparkling' thing is taking over your processor."

Arcee began to protest, lifting her nose into the air, "It's not! I was just thinking-"

"Yeah. Thinking. That's the problem," Ironhide interrupted her. He pushed off from standing against his Topkick form and sauntered over with swaggering hips and long striding legs to pivot and lean back on her hood next to where she was standing, puffing out his chest and giving her a come hither smile. "So. I heard you wanted a mech partner to do this with... Greetings, the names Ironhide, where do I apply?"

The femme's expression turned frosty. She huffed at him, "The more you try and push me the more likely you are to be dumped from the list. Apply _that_."

"Really?" A muscle in Hide's cheek twitched. "Hmmm. Looks like I may have to do some selective extermination on the competition then, yes?"

"Number three, and counting. Quit while you're ahead," Arcee smiled sweetly at him, "and get off my hood."

Ironhide blinked. "Number three? Which mechs are two and one?" He patted her thigh softly with a large hand, "Now see here, I think I have the perfect qualities to offer you. Smart-", Arcee guffawed, "-handsome," she rolled her eyes at him, "experienced _where it counts_, if you know what I mean-"

"Number five, and counting. You want to impress me with your 'pole', Ironhide? I'm mightily impressed by the pole position you're currently sliding down at an unbelievable rate. Shut your mouthplates and go back to intimidating adolescent humans," Arcee retorted, materialising a large pair of sunglasses onto her face and pointedly looking away from him. A smile of amusement slowly took over her lips.

"FIVE?! How did I get to five?! And who the slag am I behind now?" Ironhide growled, "Where is this list? Come on, where is it? I'm going to blast it into orbit."

"Nowhere that you're going to get your hands on it, sweetcakes," Arcee shot back at him, putting a finger to the ridge of her sunglasses and pulling them down just enough to wink at him cheekily.

The human mech frowned, giving her sexy holoform a quick once over, then pushing off her hood and standing in front of her on braced spread thighs with his hands on his hips. "It's under your shirt. Between those 'boob' things. Am I right?"

"No, but human culture says men are forbidden from putting their hands down there in public so it would be a good place to put it to keep it from you," Arcee said smoothly, reaching a hand out to his chest and flicking one pointed finger into his hard pectoral muscle. His head tilted down to watch what her finger was doing. "I can touch your chest but you can't lay a hand on mine, baby doll."

Ironhide was still looking up on the web what 'baby doll' meant when the blare of an angry air horn made both of them jump. Pulling into the car space directly in front of Arcee was a large Peterbilt truck decorated with red and blue flames. The intimidating silver grill topped by a small red Autobot symbol on the front stopped inches away from hitting Ironhide in the back of the legs.

Ironhide grunted, feeling the heat of the truck's engine on his thighs. His attitude became stroppy. "Oh look, the fun police have arrived. What's he here for? He doesn't do 'shopping'."

The Peterbilt's engine killed itself and the door of the cabin opened, two long muscled legs appearing and stepping down from the truck. The door was slammed shut, and Optimus Prime's holoform stood there, his gaze narrowing on Ironhide who was peering over his shoulder at him. Prime's human form was a full head taller then Ironhide's, and he wore blue jeans instead of black ones. Ratchet had good doctor looks. Ironhide had great muscles, brooding good looks and was dripping with roguish cowboy charisma. But Optimus was just... stunning. Three storeys of macho mech turned into six feet six of 'honey, I want a piece of that', utterly mind numbing, man. Wide shoulders, high cheekbones, dark brown hair, ripped chest and abdomen – his six pack looked more like an eight pack and that red collared shirt he was wearing only highlighted the brutal intensity of his glowing blue eyes.

The Autobot Commander took in the positions of his Weapons Specialist and solitary femme. Arcee shrugged at him and gave him a soft smile when he looked at her questioningly, resting her chin on her knees and hugging her legs. She vaporised her sunglasses to make eye contact with him. She was alright. Taking two long strides forwards, Optimus loomed behind Ironhide.

"Where is your upper body clothing, Ironhide?" Optimus rumbled, looking with disapproval at his soldier, his wide mouth pressed into a firm line above his solid jaw.

"In the wash. What are you doing here? Did you run out of those little pine tree paper things for your rear vision mirror, again?"

Optimus was disappointed that since the other mech wasn't wearing a shirt, he couldn't grab him by it and lift him up off his feet. "Shirt. Now. We don't need the attention of human females staring at you."

Ironhide smirked at Arcee happily, and jerked a thumb at Optimus over his shoulder, "See? Even he thinks I'm hot. I think I deserve to be jacked up a few positions on your list. Honestly."

Arcee extended her leg and placed her foot on his chest, pushing him away playfully, "Oh stop it. Put your hat back on, I liked that, it was cute."

"Really?" The black mech grinned, "Why, thank you ma'am, your compliments are happily accepted." Then his face froze unnaturally. Coming back to life, he sighed, drooping his shoulders. "Ratchet says he needs a hand carrying things... I swear that's the only reason the fragger asks me along on these trips, why he can't materialise another set of arms, Primus only knows," he grumbled, marching away across the car park.

"SHIRT!" Optimus called loudly after him. "NOW!"

Ironhide waved a dismissive hand at him, "Take yours off too then you'll be more comfortable and less of a tight aft! You might even get a real female looking at you for once!"

Prime didn't look pleased at being ignored (and the jibe to his mechhood hurt too), and one long look at Ironhide's Topkick form left behind with Arcee gave him a great idea for a reprimand. With Arcee watching him curiously, Optimus walked around to the tailgate, lined himself up – and landed one hefty kick with his booted toe into the middle of it.

Ironhide's roar was heard clear across the carpark, "_HEY~!!!_"

Arcee gave her Leader an amazed look, "Now who's acting like a sparkling, hmm?"

To his credit, Optimus did appear marginally apologetic. Marginally. "Well, refusing an order does give me the right to reprimand him. Better I do it with my holoform foot than my real one," he explained, shrugging one big shoulder.

"What are you here for, Optimus?" Arcee asked, sliding down her hood and standing on her feet, looking at him curiously.

Prime looked down at her standing in front of his chest. She had chosen a very nice female holoform. He'd seen it before, this was just the first time he'd looked at it from the point-of-view that she was of interest to him because she was scouting for a mech to mate with. Could he allow himself to become emotionally involved? To bare his spark and all it held? What would be the consequences if he did?

"Optimus?"

Without answering, Prime lifted his hand and touched her cheek with his fingers. Small shocks tingled through his flesh at the contact. Their eyes met. Arcee's were wide and surprised. Prime's were... not normal.

"Prime..." She cocked her head up at him, noting the odd expression on his face. Human faces were more expressive of their emotions than their metal forms were, their malleable organic flesh was easier to manipulate, yet she couldn't identify what was written on Prime's human features. He was controlling himself just as he always did. Closed off. Hesitantly, Arcee placed her hand over his. Concerned. "Are you alright?"

The moment was broken by the loud snark of Ratchet quarrelling with Ironhide as they returned loaded down with bits and bobs that Ratchet insisted he needed. Optimus dropped his hand and took a step back from the femme, avoiding her gaze. Arcee kept staring at him, questions on her lips that she didn't dare voice with the other mechs around. He was being odd. It was disturbing her.

Prime murmured, "See you all back at the base..." He turned his back on them all, kept his head down, climbed back into his Peterbilt form, closed the door, reversed out of his space and drove away.

"What's wrong with him?" Ratchet said curiously. "He just turns up, tells Ironhide off about being half naked, then leaves."

"Mid-life crisis?" Ironhide replied. "Give him an exhaust flush, Ratch, and he'll be feeling much more perky."

Standing in front of her Lotus car form in her mini skirt and re-formed high heels, Arcee ignored them. She kept looking off in the direction that Optimus had disappeared to. Then she made a decision. Opening the door of herself, she slipped inside and started her engine. She was going to get a few things straight in her CPU, and if that involved asking a few painful questions that Optimus wouldn't want to answer, she was sorry to have to hurt him but she needed to know. Both of them did. Now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Waiting**

**Authors Note: **ARGH! I've been slaving away over this chapter for a while now, trying to organise my thoughts. I hope this passes inspection! Thanks for the reviews and comments. The voting poll on my FFN profile is chugging along very nicely too. If you haven't voted yet go and do so, I'll be closing it in the next week or so.

**Chapter 10**

_**State Highway, outer suburbs of Tranquillity...**_

Arcee revved her engine with annoyance. The traffic on the highway was light enough for her to zip along – and she was even doing 10 miles over the limit – but the extra speed wasn't doing anything for her mood.

She had been puzzled when Optimus turned up at the Walmart. He hadn't explained what he was there for, he had then refused to answer her questions, and he'd left abruptly as well. Now her confused state was turning into strong irritation. She'd never thought of 'The Great Optimus Prime' as being annoying before, but slag, he was putting so much effort into confounding her with his behaviour... she was getting riled up about it. Even Ratchet had commented that there seemed to be something wrong. One minute he was nervous around her, then the next he was confident and practically seducing her off her feet, and now? He was running away. She'd been standing in front of him, asking him what he was here for, saying his name – twice – and he'd left. Unless he could explain himself she was going to conclude that his personality was not stable enough to be a good sire for her sparkling, and that was a concept she'd NEVER applied to Optimus in all the thousands of years she'd been a soldier for him.

Her tracking program locked on to his signal told her that Prime was barely one mile in front of her, and since he never broke the speed limit unless he or his soldiers were under attack, she could easily cruise up to his rear bumper and give him a surprise nudge – but would he allow himself to be caught? If he hadn't wanted to talk to her back at the Walmart, why would he pull over and give himself up to a discussion?

A local police car approaching her from the opposite direction on the other side of the highway gave her a wicked idea. In moments, Arcee's trans-scanners had swept unobtrusively over the cop car, and as her form shot into a tunnel and was blanketed from human view momentarily, her organic metal sizzled with a quick alien makeover...

...to emerge on the other side as the sexiest police car on the beat. A Lotus Exige sporting black and white law enforcement colors. The police symbol on her doors bore the police badge with an Autobot symbol inside of it, and the legendary words, 'to protect and serve' on her flanks. As an added extra, she changed her numberplate to 'GOTCHA'. Neat. Very neat. Perhaps Optimus had a thing for femmes in uniform? At least, he would, if she gave him the option of _removing_ her uniform armor with his optics. As a little extra 'something', Arcee also made some creative touches to the way her armor would cover her protoform once she had transformed, fully expecting that once the big mech got a look at her new appearance, he would be sagging at the knees and blindsided. She laughed at herself. Mechs were so easy to manipulate it was ridiculous.

She was getting close to making her decision on a sire for her sparkling, she merely had some final kinks to work out, and then she'd be set. The answers she was searching for from Optimus would make her choices even clearer.

With a low chuckle, the Autobot femme dropped her clutch, prodding her engine into a roar. Engaging the gears again, her Lotus mode shot forwards. Activating her whooping siren and lights, the predatory femme took off in a blurr of rubber after her target as her holoform in the front seat rubbed her hands over the steering wheel, adjusting the dark aviator sunglasses on her nose as her drivers side window sank down to let her blonde hair stream out past her headrest.

"Ignore _this_, tall, dark and smexy."

One Optimus Prime pulled over by the side of the highway in handcuffs, coming up.

She expected more to happen when she cruised up to Prime's aft. Optimus was a big, fearsome, warrior male. He could have given her the flick and ignored her or caused all sorts of trouble – but he didn't. It wasn't - and never would be - in his nature to do so. With his soldiers and friends, he was kind, caring, resolute and attentive. She swerved around him so her drivers side was closest to him, and gave him a brooding glance. Prime's handsome holoform lifted his eyebrows at her fancy getup. His human eyes blazed unnaturally with blue fire when she peered at him sternly over her sunglasses and made a beckoning motion at him with one finger.

"Pull over, big boy, I want to talk to you."

Even over the heavy pitch of both their engines, Prime's audios could hear her clearly. "Have I committed an offence?" he enquired, gazing steadily at her.

"Against the road rules, no, but from the way you're looking at my holoform and alt mode like I'm on the cover of Playbot, I think your CPU has. Get off the highway and stop somewhere private. I have some questions for you."

Prime stiffened for a second but tried to hide it by nodding at her. Her eyes narrowed at him. She was aware that she may be over-stepping her bounds here, but she was taking the risk. When his speed decreased and his engine down shifted she knew he was accepting her request graciously, so she pulled back to give his alt form room to move, content to follow him. He took them off the highway at the next exit and drove for several minutes, going just long enough to make her worry that he was only playing with her. When he stopped it was in a secluded area on a rural road. They were surrounded by dense forest – Arcee was hoping Optimus Prime's CPU wasn't currently in a similar state of 'dense' about the things she wanted to ask.

Optimus transformed and stretched his arms a little while cocking one optic down at Arcee pulling up next to him. He nodded silently at her to indicate it was safe to transform. He mused to himself that every time he saw Arcee lately, she appeared more and more attractive to him, and the Police get-up she had covered herself with was quite fetching. Sexy, the humans called it. He felt a wave of desire to drop to his knees and caress the curves and lines of her alt mode – but that was something he would not do to a femme unless he was openly invited to do so. Manners first. Always.

If Prime thought her car mode was striking, he got even more of a shock when she transformed and appeared in front of him with her normal armor placement on her protoform altered and markedly reduced in volume. The big Commander just stood and _stared_. If the humans had asked him to describe what an alluring Cybertronian femme looked like, he would have told them it was what Arcee looked like right now. Stunning wasn't the word... her upper body armor had been reduced to covering the main parts of her torso only, and the armor was enticingly split down her chest, giving her the false appearance of cleavage. Her abdomen was bare protoform. Only a single width of white and black armor was attached to her hips and down her crotch; lengthening the look of legs. Her lower legs had armor which extended from her feet and up over her knees and ended at a sharp edge not unlike Prime's own armor. Her feet had been pushed up on a tall heel as well.

"You have, uh... um... made a few _changes_, I see." Prime tried to keep his optics from pointedly staring at her, and he was proud that he could pull his optics way from her at all, even if they came straight back to her of their own accord.

Trying not to openly give away that she'd done this for his benefit (Prime wasn't stupid, he had to realise what she was doing) Arcee held her arms out and looked down at herself, cocking one hip out and peering down at her body. "The humans change their forms everyday. New clothing, different styles. I figured it wouldn't hurt to do that myself, sometimes." Her head lifted and her optics blinked slowly at him. "From your expression it appears that you approve."

The open expression of intense admiration on her Commanders face dissolved into the closed expression he'd been wearing in the carpark. Arcee stiffened, _Don't pull that on me, Optimus, I want to talk to you!_

"Well." Arcee walked on lithe gliding strides around the big mech. Optimus turned his head and swivelled his optics to track her progress around his tall frame. His hip joints creaked when he shifted his weight from one splayed foot to another. "Now that I have legally and safely pulled you over, I have some questions to ask of you – but are you willing to give me open answers?"

To the surprise of the femme, Prime didn't react negatively to her proposal. "Certainly. But I have one small piece of advice to give you first."

"That is?"

The mech gestured at her body, "When you return to base with your new armor, the other mechs may begin acting differently than usual. One look at you and Bumblebee will fry his processor and be offline for the next week, Ironhide will go down on his knees offering you one of his cannons in exchange for a date, Ratchet will be running scans on you every few minutes 'for your own health', and the Twins will be hanging off your ankle struts swearing undying love."

Arcee's optics widened. "Oh." There was someone missing... "And Wheeljack?"

Optimus smiled wryly, rumbling, "Nevermind 'Jack, he'd only get excited if one of his inventions was wearing revealing armor."

"Primus!" Arcee covered her optics with her hands. "TMI, mech, TMI."

"I call it as I see it," Optimus said dryly in a light reassuring tone with bright optics.

Arcee gave Prime a scrutinising look. She walked closer to him and stared up into his faceplates. Slowly, she raised herself up on the tips of her metal feet and studied him silently. The mech resisted the need to step back away from her. His chin was on his upper chest armor to see her she was so close.

"...and what would you do, hmm?" She tapped one slim finger on his windscreen, "You're a mech as well."

The Commanders optics were stuck on her finger gently sweeping back and forwards along his red and blue armor. "Uh..." What he would do was far too explicit and indulgent to verbalise.

Keeping a sweet and innocent smile on her faceplates, Arcee slid a secretive hand down between Prime's thighs – and flexed her hands around his crotch armor, giving the protective covering metal a squeeze. He jerked in shock. She laughed at him, backing off and sticking her hands on her hips.

"Femme..." Prime chided her softly. He patted his groin coverings to reassure himself it was intact. The anchoring hinges hadn't been slit by a sneaky blade, thank Primus. Femmes had been known to pull that trick.

"You touched me there in the wash racks, remember? One good deed deserves another, is the Earth saying." She pivoted on one leg before him, sliding one hand down her hip and onto her thigh, flashing him a haughty expression. Being a complete tease.

Optimus struggled internally to keep himself in check. On the outside he was cool and steady, but inside... he hadn't been with a femme for so long, his instincts and libido were practically screaming at him to reach out and take what she was playfully offering him. She wanted a sire for her sparkling? He would gladly lie down, remove his armor, and beckon her to 'get on top'. Or the other way round, if she felt that way inclined. He always offered his partners the choice of top or bottom – if they were going horizontal verses being against the wall, in a chair or someplace else erotic. He wasn't fussy. His sheer size could make him being on top a difficult proposition, but he had experience with making it work, and femmes could be very inventive too, since with him stretched over their bodies, their mouthplates and hands made short work of exploring and teasing his chest – one of his hotspots. He loved a femme purring over his chest and stroking him. One of the best overloads he'd ever experienced had involved his femme partner running her glossa over his trembling chest while he was braced over the top of her, with one of her small hands caressing his bare pulsating spark and the other hand delving into where their bodies were joined down below...

Prime shook his head quickly, forcefully locking down his old data tracks, his optics flashing bright blue as he did so. It would be better if he got his CPU off such a heating topic. He could only keep himself restrained for so long...

"You said you had some questions to ask of me?" Optimus asked, bracing his hands on his hips and putting on his 'serious' face. Back to business.

Arcee's optics drifted up his powerful body to met his gaze. "Yes." She paused to collate her argument in her head. "Please stop me if you feel I'm being too crude or inquisitive."

When Optimus nodded slightly at her and stayed silent she continued.

"Your actions lately concerning myself have been mystifying me. At times you are warm and almost playful, but at others..." Arcee drifted off, thinking. "I feel like you're avoiding me. Shutting me out. I guess, I need to know," Arcee braced herself to say it, "do you feel pleased or dismayed by the prospect of being chosen by me as a sire for my sparkling? Do you want a sparkling of your own? With me? With anyone else?" The femme held her hands up imploringly, "What is it that you want? And don't give me one of those 'I'm-here-to-help-and-assist-you' speeches, or tell what's good for the Autobots or our species. No. No way. Tell me what_ you _want. YOU. No one else."

Optimus was silent. He didn't move or change position, he just stayed looking down at her. No fiddling or fidgeting. He was displaying his legendary 'I'm-revealing-nothing-of-what-I-feel-or-think' pose. Even his heavy armor refused to creak or reflect flashes of light.

Arcee nearly took a step back, just catching herself at the right moment so she didn't move. She wasn't going to back down with this. She needed to know.

A soft sigh that flowed out of his side intakes like a warm breeze caused her to twitch. "You're asking of me what it is that I desire." He shifted his stance so his body was at an angle to hers, the engraved spinners on the side of his head whirring and clicking as they did when his emotions were stirred up. "It is difficult for me to answer you. What my programming and processor tell me is quite different from what my desires and instincts say." His head lifted and his optics stared off into the distance through the trees. "Perhaps this is what has been confusing you because it has certainly been confusing me."

Optimus Prime's great regal head bowed down, his brow arches pulled down over his optics, shadowing them. He was silent for another few moments.

"But do you want a sparkling? Have you ever wanted one?" Arcee spoke quietly.

"Wanted one? Yes. Should I have one?" Optimus paused again. One of his hands lifted to clench and unclench into a fist in front of his wide chest, his gaze watching it intently. "No. For many reasons, it is too dangerous. I am a target for our enemies, yet I am a target that can and does fight back with lethal force. My sparkling would also be a target, one that cannot fight back." The Autobot Commanders hand reached out and much to Arcee's surprise, touched her cheekplate, then his fingers spread and cradled it with his palm, "The bearer of my sparkling would also be at risk." His hand fell away. He spoke quietly. "This I cannot live with. Two precious lives facing violent termination at any moment in time because of me."

Arcee's optic ridges rose up, "But... Optimus, that shouldn't mean that you are denied the joy and gift of a new life created by you! You have a right to a sparkling as much as anyone else!"

A soft but tired smile came back at her. "This I know. My spark torments me with this knowledge, while my processor insists that the Prime line should continue on. The risks are too great, and with the war seemingly over, perhaps it is for the best that there is not another Prime. Reproducing condemns another mech or femme of my line to the life I have lived. It is... not easy."

"No. No! This isn't right. Forgive me Optimus, but you are confusing and tormenting yourself. You sound like you want a sparkling, but you are actively talking yourself out of it by constructing arguments to stand in your way." Arcee gestured with her hands between herself and him, "Without considering responsibilities, leaving out for a moment who dies or doesn't die, or what the Prime line needs or even what our species needs," the femme gathered her courage, prepared for a rejection, "would you chose me to carry your sparkling?"

For a long loaded moment, Optimus didn't answer. His tall broad frame lifted to stand straight and proud. His optics sweepers clicked together, and then when his large strong hands settled themselves onto her shoulders and his optics burned brightly into hers, Arcee knew her answer.

"Yes. Yes, I would."


	11. Chapter 11

**Waiting**

Authors Note: It's been a long wait, but here it is. The lucky (or not!) mech is revealed. Thank you for all the reviews, comments and enthusiasm. This fic started off as a little crack bunny that I didn't think anyone would be interested in, and look how far its come! Thanks guys!

**Chapter 11**

_**Ratchet's medbay...**_

"Take this, get a sample into it – I don't care how, just do it – then bring it back to me before it goes cold." Ratchet handed over a small empty flask to a mystified Optimus Prime and stood there expectantly, waiting.

"What?" Optimus asked, looking confused, peering at the empty flask and wondering what kind of sample the CMO wanted from him.

"Your transfluid. In the flask." Ratchet fluttered his hands at the huge mech, "Go on, it's part of your reproductive check-up. I need to make sure everything is functioning correctly. A Prime shooting blanks will throw a huge wrench in Arcee's plans if you have a problem _down there_. If you don't wish to, er, overload into the flask, I can take a sample directly from your transfluid reservoir, but if you think that's a painful and undignified procedure for you, go and make yourself happy in private and get me a fresh, warm sample. Producing it yourself is the best route." Again, Ratchet looked at him, fully expecting his Commander to stalk off and 'do the deed'. "What's wrong? You can do it in your quarters if you feel uncomfortable about it."

Stiffening his shoulders and plunking the flask down onto the nearest bench, Prime turned his glaring optics onto the medic. "I told her if I wanted a sparkling she would be the femme I would chose. In no way, shape or form did I say SHE had chosen ME to sire HER sparkling."

Ratchet paused in the act of grumpily folding his arms over his Hummer-armor-clad chest, dropping his arms to his sides in disappointment. "Oh."

"Exactly."

"Slag it," Ratchet growled.

"Yes, she and I both know how much you are looking forward to getting us together," Optimus said distinctly, taking a step backwards to lean his aft on a medbench, and clasp his hands in front of him, "but it's not happening yet. Maybe not at all." The Commander had a sudden evil thought. He picked up the flask and offered it to Ratchet, "She did say you were on her list too, so perhaps YOU can fill this flask, hmm? Have lots of little hyperactive Ratchet nannites in your transfluid bursting to come forth, do you?"

The CMO snarled at him.

"Over your de-activated and recycled twitching body? Yes, that's how I feel too," Prime chuckled, putting the flask back down and giving it a flick with his forefinger so it slid along the bench. He drummed his fingers on his armored thigh. "There are some aspects about producing sparklings that none of us look forward to. Now if that is all, I have other things to attend to." With a knowing smirk, Optimus left the medbay.

Ratchet grumbled. The mech who had just been standing before him was a tall, handsome, powerful and utterly-divine example of the best Cybertronian male there had ever been. If Ratchet had been a femme, he would've had Optimus Prime on his back and a special part of his anatomy standing at attention and ready for work in no time at all. But therein was the point. Arcee was the femme. It puzzled him why she was taking her sweet time with making her decision, but then, he wasn't a femme. The opposite sex had strange processors...

He paused in the act of tidying his shelves. Optics slanted towards the ceiling. His hand resting on the shelf.

Maybe it was time someone gave Arcee a patient audio and a sympathetic CPU. He was willing to bet that while Optimus was kind and considerate, Arcee wouldn't see him as a great mech to go to for a processor-deep discussion about sparklings. Prime was just too sensitive and _clueless_ about that topic. Ratchet lowered his hands to the bench in front of him, smiling to himself. Slag, it was about time he made the others gape at him being kind and considerate instead of ducking wrenches or cringing from his displeased scowl.

It was time to find Arcee and have a talk.

_**Outside the base...**_

Arcee sat moodily in the outside recreation area built by Ironhide and Optimus. She had sunk herself back into an Optimus-size chair, which meant she had been practically engulfed with her lower legs hanging off the seat edge and her feet dangling in the air. She had one arm lazily slung across her midsection while the other was on the armrest, her fingers tapping restlessly on it as her gaze swept the horizon.

Her talk with Optimus had gone well. It had clarified a few things. Yes, Big Bot wanted a sparkling. Yes, he would choose her to produce it. He had a few misgivings about how much torment the little one may have to endure because of the Prime heritage, but in his spark, he wanted one.

Great.

She had thought that would make the final decision for her all sewn up and ready to go.

...but it wasn't.

Her CPU was flicking through mech, after mech, after mech. Images, good points, bad points, personalities. What she wanted her sparkling to be like; mech or femme. If she wanted her little one to look gorgeous, she'd use Sunstreaker or Optimus Prime. If she wanted intelligence she'd use Ratchet or Optimus. Talent and an interesting personality – Ironhide or Sideswipe. Friendly, smart and cute too – Bumblebee or Optimus.

Her CPU was obnoxiously pointing out that almost every selection had 'or Optimus'. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. The big sexy mech had been at the top of her list from day one. He was the logical answer to everything she needed. She found him attractive (she often expected in-animate objects like streetlights or post boxes to tackle him and beg to be humped he was so impossibly magnetic and good-looking), easy-going (for being Megatron's brother, Optimus was incredibly mild and logical), smart (any mech that could build an army by himself, run it, keep it going for untold millennia AND win the war, had one very slick processor), and that aft, THAT AFT – and every femmes fantasy.

She vented hard through her intakes, shaking her head at herself.

"Am I interrupting?"

The soft mech voice broke Arcee's whirlwind thoughts. She glanced sideways, wondering what _he_ wanted. If it was anything along the lines of 'jump on Prime's berth and get with the horizontal dancing', she was going to shoot him in the crotchplates. "Ratchet. What's up?"

Ratchet walked his yellow-green bulk up next to her, sedately locking his hands behind his back. "I thought you might like someone to discuss your problems with."

Arcee's optic ridges lifted up her forehead in surprise. She settled her hands onto her abdominal plates, saying with a touch of sarcasm, "Oh really? And my problem is that I'm not scrambling onto Optimus Prime's berth fast enough for you?"

"I do have psychology training," Ratchet bowed his head in submission to her, "and think about it, there is no one here better to talk to about your particular problem at the moment, than me. And if you're worried about me pushing you into Prime's arms again, think about this – why would I offer to discuss anything with you if I thought it would be better to stand here and chant, 'Prime, Prime, Prime,'?" He pulled over one of the big chairs to sit next to her, pausing with his hands on the back of it. "So. May I?"

The femme mulled that over quickly. Ratchet was right, out of anyone in the base he was the one she could _really_ talk to. "Have a seat."

"Thank you."

The chair creaked ominously when the mech settled his aft into it and leaned back. She'd heard that Ratchet was heavier than even Optimus was, because of his extra thick armor and all of the emergency medical equipment and spare parts he carried on and in his chassis – and the chair appeared to agree! She hadn't thought of that. If she chose Ratchet she may be forced to be the 'bottom' when they interfaced, unless he supported his weight on his arms most of the time. She'd let him work it out if it came to that.

The mech and femme sat companionably and stared out into the horizon.

"You have yet to chose a sire – correct?"

Arcee chuckled, "Straight to the point, as always. No, I have not. I'm close, but..." she grimaced, "I have to make sure I make the right choice, both for myself and my sparkling."

"And the Autobots. And Cybertron," Ratchet added, nodding his head.

"It seems you understand this pretty well," Arcee smiled. _And I can read the 'Prime is best' mantra in that quote, Ratchet!_

"Well," the mech tapped his hand on his thigh, "I would say that if you've taken this long to make a decision that you are going about this in the correct way. You are obviously after more than which mech is the handsomest, strongest or has the biggest interface."

"Biggest interface?" Arcee turned her face fully towards him, "Now that is one quality I won't know unless I take the mech in question to my berth."

A devious smirk appeared on Ratchet's face, "I can send you the dimensions of all the mechs here; yes, even for Optimus, if you want. For when they are deflated, of course, except for Ironhide. I know what size HE is when he's erect." He openly patted his own groinplates, "And obviously I know my own size, too. Unlike organic species such as the humans, it is possible for our species to accurately predict how big a mech will be when he is aroused from knowing the measurements of his limp interface."_ I also think I know the answer to the rumor that Optimus is related to Bumblebee from the size of Bee's interface compared to Primes, but I'm not telling her that_, Ratchet thought to himself cryptically.

Arcee leaned forwards, spluttering. "Ratchet!"

"Interfaces are important," he insisted, "you don't want a small one, do you?"

"Hang on, wait," Arcee held her hands up for him to stop, "you've been pushing me and Optimus at each other ever since you found out about me having a sparkling, and if you think I shouldn't want a small interface..." her optics widened, "you've just confirmed that Optimus must be huge!"

Ratchet snorted, "Oh don't squeeze your thighs together like that, he'd be gentle with you, don't worry about that, and he's not the only big one, believe me. Other mechs have nothing to be ashamed of."

Arcee leaned over her armrest at him stealthily, narrowing her optics and tapping a finger on his big black Hummer front grill, "How on Cybertron do you know how big Ironhide is when he's stiff? Does he get aroused at examinations or something?"

_Frag, I walked into that one, can't back out now. _"We..." Ratchet's faceplates scrunched up, "...have had a fling or two together," he finished lamely. _Primus, this is what 'being nice' gets me. My pede in my mouthplates. _

Arcee's small jaw hung open. Her optics frizzled and blinked on and off. Ratchet and... _Ironhide_?! Primus, how had she missed that?!

"I can see you need something to take your mind off that car crash in your CPU," Ratchet said dryly, "well then, how about this – have you considered producing a sparkling with each mech here? Instead of choosing ONE mech, what about using us all? Have a sparkling with each mech?"

"Humph," Arcee sank back into her chair, rubbing at her forehead, "no, that would be a great disaster, and completely unethical."

Ratchet sighed, "Yes, I am inclined to agree."

Arcee gave him a searching look, "Do you want a sparkling, Ratch? A little one?" She grinned, "A medbay protege all of your own?"

"It may surprise you, but I have considered it, and I am open to the idea." Ratchet crossed his arms and stared out into the desert, "A sparkling requires a lot of time and commitment, and I hope I'm not too old, too grumpy, and too set in my ways if it happens to me."

"Ah." Arcee got to her feet and leant over the seated doctor. She surprised him by cupping his cheekplate in the palm of her hand, and planting a delicate kiss on his cheek. When he arched an optic ridge and stared at her, she laughed and leaned in with yet another kiss – this time on his noseplates. "Thank you Ratchet, it was nice to discuss things with you. I better be going. As you can guess, I have many things to ponder."

The CMO – still reeling from being voluntarily given a kiss from a femme – stared at her backplates as she walked away. His five-fingered hand touched his nose where Arcee had smooched him. Wow. If this was what 'being nice' got him, maybe he'd better start practising 'nice' more often!

_**The next day...**_

Having the next day off meant Arcee had spent a lot of time in her quarters that night hammering her CPU over the choice of which mech she wanted. She stayed up late putting the humans internet to good use – trawling the web for advice on parenting and 'men'. There was so much information, and most of it was conflicting, but it did help her somewhat. By the time the dawn sun was beginning to shine its rays through the window of her quarters, she had made a decision. She hadn't recharged for even one minute and she was exhausted.

She hadn't made her choice based on which mech was the best looking. Had the best manners. Was the most intelligent. Was the cutest. Had the biggest weapons. Might have a big interface. Could be great on the berth. Which mech deserved it.

Her choice had come down to a combination of the mech having the kindest spark, the most mature attitude, the most stable CPU, and the mech her spark told her was right for her. The best match. The mech her spark had been patiently thrumming at her from the beginning that he was the right choice. She was also willing to admit that her own desires wanted him as well. This mech she'd be more than happy to be held in the arms of and create a new little spark with. A mech she would be happy AND proud to stand beside and say, 'He is the sire of my sparkling'.

Arcee sat on the edge of her berth and tiredly rested her head in her hands. She smiled. Time to go and tell the lucky male what his fate was. After wiping down her body and applying a quick polish (she didn't want to turn up looking dirty and dull), she left her quarters with a predatory expression on her faceplates. No more indecision. No more wondering and debating. Now it was time for action. She wasn't going to keep her news to herself!

She passed the quarters of most of the mechs in the base until she came to the one she was aiming for. From the faint sounds coming through the door, she realised she was lucky he hadn't risen and left for his duties already. He was a notoriously early riser. Hesitantly – she was nervous, it wasn't every day she asked a mech to mate with her! - she lifted her hand and knocked on his door. Mere moments passed before the door slid back to reveal her target in all his mechly glory.

"Good morning. I've made my decision." Arcee smiled broadly up at him, "Would you do me the honor of siring my sparkling?"

The mech's optics widened. They blinked. His jaw fell open. He took a hesitant step backwards in shock.

Across the hallway and two doors down, Sideswipe was exiting the rooms he shared with Sunstreaker, grumbling loudly. He'd been put on early morning target range exercises by Ironhide for a prank he'd executed against the Weapons Specialist a few days ago. Ironhide didn't lecture a bot when he did something wrong, he just ordered him (with Prime's blessing) to show up at the target range at an insane hour of the morning for excruciatingly long and boring weapon drills and a painful regime of hand-to-hand combat where the naughty bot got his armor re-arranged into creative patterns.

Sideswipe stopped and stared as his optics caught Arcee boldly throwing herself into the arms of a very stunned mech down the hall, sending him crashing to the ground on his back and the door to the mech's quarters sliding shut after her, cutting off the view. 'Sides took a second to carefully check that his optics weren't glitched, then turned to call out to his brother.

"SUNNY! Get this! Arcee's doing the boss! She just jumped into his arms and knocked him over! I swear it!"

"...Eh. What? Shaddup 'Sides, I'm recharging..."

Sideswipe rolled his optics and huffed, waving a dismissive hand in the direction of his snoozing bro, "Whatever, I guess we shouldn't be surprised that Optimus Prime gets his fair share of femmes, he is a pretty handsome fragger, after all."

**Authors Note: **Yes! The decision is final! After all that, Optimus Prime gets his femme. Or he's been GOT by a femme, putting it another way. Caught, shackled, stripped and put on notice! Poor Prime... I will do the naughty chapter where Arcee gives Prime a workout, which means that this fic will be turning 'M' rated so the next time you see it, it will be in the mature section. The final results for the poll on my profile page influenced me greatly. I was entirely prepared to use whoever came out on top in the rankings, which fortunately for me was the mech I wanted too! Optimus! For those wanting to know what the result was, here it is -

Optimus Prime 44 votes (30%)

Ratchet 29 votes (20%)

Sideswipe 17 votes (11%)

Bumblebee 16 votes (11%)

Ironhide 15 votes (10%)

Sunstreaker 11 votes (7%)

Wheeljack 7 votes (4%)

None Above 6 votes (4%)

I did expect Ironhide to come in second, so I was surprised at Ratchet being the second choice! Go Ratch! And by Bee and Sunny finishing down the list. Wow.


	12. Chapter 12

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Short update. I wanted to get this out, it has been swirling around in my brain for a bit. Thanks for the reviews, especially to everyone who I didn't get around to replying to. Thanks heaps.

**Chapter 12**

**Optimus Prime's personal quarters, early morning...**

"You look just as good on your back as you do when you're upright, Optimus."

Arcee grinned down at her captured mech from where she sat upon his waist with her thighs spread wide above his hip armor. He was such a cutie. A complete package of gorgeousness, kindness, intelligence and utter you-know-you-want-me appeal. Unable to stop herself, she reached up and tickled him under his chin. The way his optics widened in disbelief made her laugh and do it again.

Optimus Prime cranked his sore head up off the floor, peering warily at the slender femme perched on his waist. The last time he'd been jumped upon this early in the morning by an excited female had been a very long time ago. "I.. uh, hmmm." The Prime was flummoxed. And shocked. "You have, er, decided then?"

"Oh yes." Arcee leant down and propped her elbows on each side of his split chest armor, blinking at him happily. "You. No one else. Just you."

"O-Oh. Er... right." Optimus cursed his CPU for leaving him splayed out on the floor while it trotted off elsewhere in search of more intelligent conversation. He just couldn't think straight. "Does this mean you want to do it right now?"

"What?" Arcee sat herself upright and looked comically indignant. "No, no, no. Well..." she placed a finger on her chin, acting coy, "not unless you really _want_ to."

"Ugh." Prime let his head fall back down onto the floor with a hard thunk. He placed his large hand over his face and rubbed at his optics with his thumb and forefinger. "Let me wake up first and do a systems check."

She laughed at him, "I'm sure your systems are perfectly fine. Ratchet does fine-tune your aft very well." She patted him again. "Optimus?"

He froze his hand and peeked out at her between his fingers. "Yes?"

"Do you... do you want to do this with me? Really?" Arcee had her game face on. Her expression was pure 'this-has-my-full-attention-so-don't-you-stuff-around-with-me'. "I know what you said the other day, I know you're worried about the risks and responsibilities your heir will be carrying on his or her little shoulders. Are you alright with this?"

With slow sure movements, Optimus moved his hands down to rest reassuringly around her petite femme waist. She fidgeted, not sure what he was doing. He contemplated her for a silent moment, optic to optic. "Yes, I do desire to have a little one of my own despite my worries, and you must already know that I use well the talents of my army as my resources." He let her chew over that for a moment.

"Ah!" Arcee's expression brightened, understanding. "You're going to get Ironhide to blow the head off anyone who threatens our sparkling!"

Optimus chuckled, "Got it in one."

The femme nodded, "Yup!", then she moved herself down his body so she was sitting on his upper thighs and his groin was in front of her. She didn't weigh much, so she wasn't concerned about her teeny mass hurting his powerful frame. "So," she rapped the knuckles of her hand on his closed crotchplates, making the big mech jerk in surprise, "how does this thing come off?"

Prime lightly batted her hand away from his groin region, "NOT YET! Wait, femme. That comes later, let's talk first."

She made a face at him, "Spoilsport."

_**Ratchet's medbay...**_

Ratchet's CPU had kept him awake for most of the night. He was always up the afts of his patients about getting enough recharge, and it was contradictory that he didn't always manage the same for himself. The topic of Arcee's sparkling was worrying him. What would he do if she wanted him to sire it? He couldn't really picture himself wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, tramping back and forth tiredly with a squalling, wailing, unhappy sparkling tucked into one arm or half slung over his wide shoulder while he stroked its back, trying to get him or her to recharge. Or cleaning waste tanks. Or playing cute little 'boo' games.

He sighed, bracing his arms on the bench in front of him and brooding at his own blurry image reflecting back at him from the super shiny and clean medbench. His CPU was being rational, but his spark wasn't. It was doing excited little flips and pulses underneath his heavy chest armor at the prospect of _maybe_ siring a sparkling.

With a low growl, he straightened up again and consulted his internal appointment schedule. Who could he pick on today to keep his CPU occupied from thinking about disturbing things?

_::Ratchet, are you awake?.::_

Arcee. He smiled. _::I'm always awake. What did you want?::_

_::Nothing too important, I just wanted to tell you something.::_

Ratchet waited for the 'telling'. Was this going to be her answer? Would it be him? Would it be Optimus? Oh Primus, please at least let it not be Ironhide. He prompted her, ::_And that is..?::_

_::Ratchet... I chose Optimus. I'm in his quarters now. I'll come by and see you soon, but I wanted you to be the first to know, I was concerned that you may hear it secondhand somehow.::_

The CMO grinned broadly. There it was. Done, dusted, and wrapped up with a neat little bow on top. _::Congratulations Arcee, I'm very happy for you. Tell me, where is Optimus now? What did he say?::_ The big lughead was probably in the washracks purging his tanks of his morning energon down the drain from nerves.

A small static laugh came down the comlink at him. _::Yes, Fearless Leader knows, I'm with him now. ON him now, actually – no wait, I'm sitting, not riding! I'll give you the details later. I also wanted you to know that you came in second, after Optimus. I almost picked you. Use that as consolation that I think you'd be a better sire than the others would've been. Thanks Ratch.:: _Arcee cut the link.

Ratchet's optics widened. She was ON him? ALREADY?! And oh, hey, he came second! No, no, nevermind that – there was finally going to be a Prime-line sparkling! A descendant! YES!

Right at that point in time, Ironhide was striding his way past the medbay entrance after putting Sideswipe through several levels of the pit with early morning training when he glanced in the medbay door – and found Ratchet doing a full-on, no-holds-barred, swaying hips and all, happy dance. The medic had his arms in the air above his head, his supple hips doing circles and pelvic thrusts while his torso was swaying back and forth. The mech was twirling and dancing his way around the big medbench in the centre of the room with the harshly bright medbay lights glowing down on him like a spotlight.

Ratchet did one last happy twirl – and caught the big black mass of Ironhide stopped in the doorway with his jaw open, staring. He froze.

Ratchet glared.

Ironhide shuttered his optics rapidly a few times in shock.

Ratchet put his hands on his hips and glared harder.

Ironhide kept staring.

Ratchet backed up his nasty glare with a few revs of his arm mounted circular saw.

...and Ironhide started roaring with laughter, miming Ratchet's happy dance with a few uncoordinated jerks of his not-very-talented hips and waving his arms over his head, and then walked off down the hallway, his deep laughter making the light fittings shake.

"I KNOW WHERE YOU RECHARGE, IRONHIDE!!"

"AND I KNOW YOU DANCE LIKE A ONE-LEGGED, OVER-CLOCKED FEMME, RATCHET!"

_**Optimus Prime's quarters...**_

The big leader himself sat upon his immense recharge berth with his back to the wall and one leg drawn up at the knee in front of him. He kept his gaze hovering on the pretty femme sitting quietly at the end of the berth. They were working out a few details after the final reveal. He; Optimus Prime; was going to sire a sparkling. She; Arcee; was going to co-create it and bear it for him.

"I don't expect you to be here with me all the time, Arcee." Optimus was rapidly listing key points and summaries in his legendary CPU about his 'mech duties' with her. "You may come and go as you wish."

"I know what you're trying to say. We're friends first, mates second," she replied easily, having thought over a few things herself. "But, I would like my sparkling to see us as proper and loving co-creators. Even if we have two berths in here and we each have one," she indicated his rooms with her hands, "that would be better than us both in our own rooms. I don't want us to be too far apart. It wouldn't be good that way."

Optimus dropped his gaze to his own berth. Would he dare admit that if he was going to sire this young one for her, he would rather have her on his berth with him most of the time? For comfort, protection and closeness? Did he have the right to say that or was he being too demanding? Sexist, as the humans called it?

"Unless... you know, I do like you." Arcee said, giving him the softest shy smile. "A lot, if I'm being honest, which I guess I am," she laughed lightly. "If you think that it's okay if we're both _normally_ here-"

"Come here Arcee." He held his arm out to the side, opening himself to her. Waiting. Hoping she would accept his little overture.

She did. In an undignified scramble and flash of metallic limbs, she almost dove onto the berth end where he was and snuggled into his side. He shuttered his optics and sighed. His arm enclosed her shoulders. His body relaxed. She fitted herself against the side of his chest with her face snuggled into his armor. That warm happy glow of a mech giving welcome and protection to a femme flared in his chest and spread out through his body. He was happy like this. It felt right. A mech was meant to be close to a femme, and vice versa.

Arcee's muffled voice floated up at him. "Thanks."

He hugged her shoulder and pressed her deeper into him. He brushed his fingertips over the back of her helmet armor, studying the brightness of her black and white paint. She had been blue before she scanned her new Police Force Lotus disguise. "You are welcome here whenever you want to be here, and if I may also be as honest as you -" he bent over as far as he could and pressed his mouthplates to the top of her head, " - I hope that will mean we can be here together for recharge every night."

Arcee lifted her head. "Really?"

He nodded. "Really."

"Wow. Thanks." Her arm settled over his midsection and relaxed. It was nice to be around a mech that she had confidence in. She could completely relax and be reassured that if some pit-slagged Decepticon came charging in the door, one sweep of Prime's arm with his pulse rifle in his hand would take care of it. She could take care of herself but sometimes it was nice to hand over the responsibility to someone else. Someone like the very capable Autobot Commander that she was cuddling up to. He made a nice, heavily armored, huge and dangerous, teddy bear.

They stayed together in silence. Her resting her head on his chest, him cradling her gently to his massive body.

"What are we going to tell the others?" Arcee's voice was low and small.

Prime vented air and let his head contact the wall behind him, his blue optics staring up at the ceiling. "Nothing, yet. If we wish to simply be together, that is our business, not theirs. We do not have to hold a group meeting and explain why you are in my quarters and on my berth. We are not younglings, we are mature bots."

She could feel each word he spoke in his deep rumbling voice through her cheekplate on his chest. It was lovely. She had always admired his voice. It was special. "Mature bots with mature needs?"

He chuckled, "Oh yes."

She shifted against him, getting more comfortable, "This mature femme needs mature recharge. I got next to nothing last night."

"Worrying over your decision," Prime murmured, levering his body down off the wall and down onto the berth so he was almost flat.

Arcee adjusted her head on his chest, admiring her close up view of his brilliantly painted red and blue flamed armor. "Yes." When he rested his other arm next to hers, her fingers reached out and stroked down his forearm. "Where is your sword? I haven't seen it for years."

The clink of a mechanism shifting inside his shoulder was her only warning. Optimus held his arm away from her and slid his over-sized double-metal blade down the outside of his arm in one blink of an optic. The fearsome weapon shone in the small light above Prime's berth. Optimus turned his arm, showing both sides of it. Her fingers reached out to touch it.

"Pretty."

Prime arched an optic ridge, brightening his optics, his handsome faceplates relaxing, "More than pretty... very useful in hand-to-hand confrontations." He cocked his head down at her, studying her rapt gaze, "And something of a turn-on for weapon loving femmes, I believe."

She snorted, "Yeah, alright, so I do love it." Optimus sent a touch of power down the bladed weapon, making it glow and her curious fingers tingle. "Big mechs have the best weapons," she added.

"Don't say that around Ironhide or he will be flexing his cannons around you forever more. His ego is large enough." Prime held the sword away from her and disengaged it, snapping it back up his arm. "Time for that later." He tapped his fingers on her back, "Recharge. I'm here. Ironhide can handle things for a while."

"Okay..." Her optics dimmed, she curled up into him and it didn't take long for her systems to power down. She thought she would be more nervous about lying down with him, but she was tired. When she was absolutely quiet and still, he let his own systems wind down but didn't power off completely. He lay there. Thinking. Everything was about to change. For the better, he believed.


	13. Chapter 13

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, if you like what I'm writing, I love to hear about it. **_Femme4prime, Black Oracle, flamingmarsh, Glittersong, Osteria, AMYLEE PRIME, BoredTech, fantasyaddict101, Elita One, Fantasyfan4ever, steelcrash, Wolf Prime, _**and**_ magnusrae._** I send out replies as much as I can. :-)

**Chapter 13**

**Late evening, Tranquillity lookout, Earth...**

Optimus Prime's air brakes hissing loudly announced the arrival of the regal Autobot Commander at the lookout. He sat in the middle of the clearing with his engine rumbling while Arcee pulled up next to him. When his scanners brought up no signs of humans anywhere nearby, he began transforming, knowing that Arcee would copy him. He stood upright and stretched out his arms and chest.

Finishing her transformation from sleek Lotus sports car into a slender femme, Arcee eyed off the spectacular view, "Nice." Her head moved slowly from side to side to scan the panoramic view. "Reminds me of home."

"Yes." Prime admired the vibrant city lights stretching out before them in the darkness. Lights which bore a moderate resemblance to what Cybertron looked like at night. "I haven't been here for quite a while."

Arcee glanced at him curiously, "Why not? This used to be your favourite place to sit and think."

The tall mech lowered his gaze from the view, looking at where the cliff in front of them dropped off into the ravine below, "This place represented hope and a new start for us. I broadcast my message into the universe to bring the other Autobots here, and I imagined many femmes and mechs coming down from the sky to join up with us." His optics tracked up to the horizon. "When that failed to happen... I became melancholic about the future of our race. Our species." He sighed, shaking his head, "And this place then represented to me the lost hope that I bore the burden of." Arcee jumped when his hand came down to rest on her shoulder. His optics glowed their familiar blue down at her. "Thank you. You have been selfless and honorable with your willingness to go beyond the call of duty and agree to help us all with the continuation of our species."

Arcee tilted her head back and smiled at him. "I'm not doing all this honorable stuff on my own, you know. You're the other half to this equation." Being bold, she reached out one hand and patted his thick groin armor suggestively, "This little mech needs to get to work."

Optimus gaped at her. Recovering himself, he blinked his optic shutters at her, deciding that if she was going to be that way, so would he. He hadn't spent several millennia around Ironhide without picking up some of his characteristics. "Hmmm. 'Little', did you say?" He spread his thighs apart. "There is nothing 'little' behind my armor, femme." He thrust his hips more prominently out in front of him and put an expression of male pride on his face. "Little is for sparklings, not mature mechs."

She laughed at him, "C'mon Mr Mojo, weren't you planning to do something special with me tonight? With the Twins and Ironhide on the other side of the country?"

His smile was soft and genuine, "Yes. I was thinking-"

"Ooo, no, don't do that, thinking gets in the way," Arcee purred, leaning on his waist and interrupting him.

He tapped his index finger on her head, "Quiet femme. I was thinking we could start with visiting the wash racks," he waggled a finger at her, "to wash my shoulder out, that is _all_. I like to have a body which is limber and clean before I start anything with a female."

Arcee winked one optic at him, "Sounds good. Race you back to the base! Last one at the wash racks has to do all the washing!" She transformed in the blink of an optic and shot away up the dirt road.

Grinning to himself, Optimus took his time with folding down into his truck mode, engaging his engine and moving casually off down the road. If he got to the base last that meant _he_ was washing _her_; something that fitted in well with his plans for the special job they were going to do together.

Prime took some time to duck into his quarters and tidy up once he was back at the base. He was clean and neat by nature but he wanted to have everything just right in case this was the night that resulted in a sparkling. As Ironhide would no doubt have put it, 'Mount up and go for a ride!'. Crude fragger. He strode down the hall towards the wash racks, and as he turned the corner he could already hear the sounds of someone cleaning themselves. He hoped it was Arcee, and not Ratchet doing some body maintenance...

_**In the washracks...**_

Arcee sighed to herself, pushing her head back and letting the cleansing fluid pour over her face and down over her body armor. She felt relaxed and at peace. Funny that. She had thought that when it came right down to it, she would be nervous as the pit at the prospect of being intimate with someone as important and legendary as Optimus Prime. Her fuel tank was fluttery, yes, and she wasn't totally sure about Prime's ability to interface with her. He was a mech – definitely! - but what kind of mech? Get on top, insert himself, expose his spark, and that was it? All over in a matter of Earth minutes with him flat out recharging next to her afterwards while she stared up at the ceiling and thought, 'Is that it'? Or maybe he'd be a complete gentlemech, sending her soaring on a cloud of ecstasy and making her scream with passion while a tiny sparkling orb began to form within her chest.

She smirked. If that was the outcome she wanted, it would be desirable if she removed her outer armor and presented herself to him in her protoform – with a few select pieces of her armor intact on her groin and her chest. It was always nice to unwrap a nice package, so to speak. The last bits were for him to play with. She smiled as her armor disengaged and compacted itself around her body so the delicate curves of her protoform were largely naked. She held her arms out and inspected herself. Perfect. Just perfect. Bring it on, Prime, this femme was ready to go!

Optimus entered the tiled room slowly, his optics sweeping the dimly lit room. Three more strides and he peeked momentarily into the occupied stall. FRAG! His jaw hung open. That was... that was... Primus! He ducked back around the corner with his hands over his mouthplates to smother himself. That definitely was NOT Ratchet! The CMO didn't have hips like that. Or such sexy legs. Or a back that curved so intimately into his waist that Prime just knew he could encircle it with his hands. And Ratchet did NOT wear his armor in pieces so narrow, that only the thinnest of metal was covering his lower parts, and across his chest. Prime's optics closed and he groaned silently. Frag it. Inside that cleaning stall was the hottest femme to ever have come out of Cybertron. And she was waiting for _him_.

Prime could feel his male interface begin to stir and put pressure on his groin armor. His spark was thrumming along inside his chest, playing a melody that set the tune for his interface to react to. Well, this was it. He straightened himself up. Put his shoulders back. Let his hands hang loosely by his sides. Held his head high – and peeked around the corner again. Frag. She was gorgeous. Noiselessly, he stepped back to the door and slid it shut, engaging the lock so that whatever happened, they wouldn't be disturbed.

A light feminine laugh echoed off the walls. "Come inside, Optimus. I've been waiting for you." Arcee glanced coyly at him over her shoulder. "I won. You lost. This femme needs attending to, so get down to it, my big mech."

Eons of battlefield experience amounted to exactly – bugger all, as Major Lennox would have declared. None of his experiences were sufficient to deal with a hot wet femme waiting for him to put his hands all over her metal. Hanging onto his courage, he stepped up behind Arcee.

"You started without me."

"Mmm," Arcee stroked her hand over her shoulder, rubbing in the cleanser. "I thought I'd do some of this for you. I don't want to tire you out. There is so much of me to -" she slid her hand down her own abdomen and let it settle on the front of her groin, "-wash."

Optimus' CPU presented him with a naughty idea. Femmes weren't the only ones who could mess around with the placement of their armor. His CPU sent several commands to his armor. Some of it retracted, some of it compacted, and other parts of it... disappeared. Not sure what to expect, he glanced down at himself. Holy Primus. He was certainly naked and slim-lined now! Even he hadn't thought he'd look THAT good! Just to start things off on more of an equal playing field, he stepped into the space next to Arcee and activated the cleansers. Let her notice him first. See how she reacted. Unless her CPU surged and she fainted, then it would be up to him to carry her back to his quarters to recover.

Arcee glanced at him standing next to her. He was supposed to be cleaning her! What was he – son of a pitspawn! Her optics frizzled, emitting a few sparks. How the pit had he done that? She felt like Primus himself had stepped up next to her, ripped all of his armor off, and was waiting for femmes to swoon at his feet. Prime had been handsome before – now he was in a different league. Her hands began to shake.

"Something wrong?" Optimus asked smoothly, and glanced sideways at her, liquid streaming down his chest, past his hips, and diverting around the only piece of armor left on his lower body, a thin solitary strip of metal covering the place where his interface was tucked away. The only other significant armor left on his body was a t-shaped piece covering his shoulders and swooping down the middle of his chest. Sunstreaker would hang his head in shame and throw in his resignation as an Autobot and join the Decepticons.

"I... I..."

"Yes? What is the matter?" Optimus graciously held his hand out towards her when it appeared that she may collapse at the knees.

"Y-Your... where..."

"I think it's time I washed you, you've missed bits." Optimus plucked a rag from the shelf on the wall and turned to face her. "Turn to face me."

Arcee followed his command. She stood in front of him with her optics racing in long lines up and down his torso. His major hydraulics, his thick muscle cables, the compact bunch of rippled power cells in his abdomen, every powerful ridge and line in his body was worshipped by her adoring gaze. If only Prime had stripped down like this when he had first approached her about producing a sparkling. It would've saved her many Earth months of thinking time. She would've had him shoved onto his back upon her berth while she clambered on top of him and got down to business. She was vaguely aware of his large hands gliding over her body and rubbing at all of the dirty spots she'd missed.

"Turn around Arcee."

She did so. Good thing, too. She'd been about to reach out with her fingers and rip off that silly, tiny piece of metal covering his maleness between his legs.

"Anything sore here?" Optimus asked gently, roving his hands up and down her back. Checking not just for dirt but also cracks, misaligned parts and worn hardware.

"No..." Arcee emitted breathlessly.

"Good."

His hands on her body were setting her on fire. This was the most incredible experience. Why hadn't she approached him before about being berth partners? She'd held herself back from most of the base crew, not wanting to show favor with any of them and ignite jealousy wars.

The sound of a piece of metal hitting the ground brought her out of her musings. She lifted an optic ridge, checking her HUD for errors. "Was that you or me dropping a part?"

"Oh. Oops. That was me. Don't turn around, my crotch covering has, shall we say, parted ways with my crotch. I'm uncovered."

She squeaked and held her hands to her chest. "Oh. Really?"

A low rumble came back at her. "Really."

"Uh huh. That's just less for me to rip off you then isn't it." She grinned broadly. "I'm turning around now, don't worry I've seen everything you have before."

_Not like this, you haven't! _Optimus thought frantically. He covered his nakedness with one hand, "Wait, I'm not-"

"Don't be silly, you are a big mech, are you not, Optimus?" Arcee purred, facing him head on by spinning around on one foot.

_A VERY big mech_, Optimus vented to himself anxiously. He didn't want to scare her!

Arcee's optic ridges rose up her forehead. Yes, her bold and smexy Commander was holding one of his hands over his bared interface while the other was clasping his missing crotch plating. Oh. Now she saw the reason why he hadn't wanted her to turn around. His interface housing wasn't just bare, from the way Prime was holding his hand vertically above his groin and covering the lower half of his abdomen, his interface was fully erect.

"You know," Arcee began, forcing herself to lift her optics up to look at him in the face instead of trying to make her x-ray vision work so she could see through his shielding hand, "if we are going to have a sparkling together, I am going to have to see what you look like down there. Well, everywhere, if we're being realistic."

Prime's bright blue optics dimmed as he processed that. He looked down at himself, lifting his hand outwards so he could see what he had down there but she couldn't. Yet. He'd seen himself plenty of times, once a day, at least, and now he was looking at himself from her point of view. He was big. Very big. He had experience with a femme blanching at his size once he had revealed himself, and backing out of being on his berth. He had consoled himself with the fact that every other femme he'd been with he'd deliberately turned into a puddle of cooing, shuddering, screaming-in-ecstasy, goo.

"I know you locked the door. I heard you. No one can enter and see us being intimate." She raised herself up onto the points of her feet and cupped his cheekplate with her hand, smiling at him. He turned his face into her small palm. She was right. So very right. She returned his searching, questioning expression with an encouraging smile. Her small femme hand slowly reached out and rested on top of his hand, the one that was covering himself. "Let me see. Please?"

Optimus dropped the metal he had been trying to cover himself with onto the shelf next to them. "I hadn't planned on doing this in the wash racks, but if you would like to see, er, all of me, I can accommodate your request."

Arcee watched him angle his thighs apart to support himself. She held herself still. Waiting.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Optimus spread open his fingers; paused for maximum effect; and pulled his hand completely away from himself... and waited.

(Yes, I am sadistic enough to make you wait until the next chapter is posted. Isn't it good to be an author? LOL)


	14. Chapter 14

**Waiting**

Authors Note: I owe big thank yous to all my readers for following all of this, and to the following reviewers of chapter 13 – _Mewtwo-TheLoneShadow, Borath, Litahatchee, flamingmarsh, Sirastar, BoredTech, optimus prime 007, Optimus Toast, fantasyaddict101, Fantasyfan4ever, magnusrae, Plenoptic, Wolf Prime, Khalthar, Saberfrost, Linda Saphira Witwicky, dzeniiby, femme4prime, _and_ cmo-hatchet._ If you haven't gotten a personal reply from me, please forgive me, and I hope to get to you shortly. Thanks for staying with me!

Extra Note: The concept of altering or restricting a mechs transfluid so he can't get a femme carrying a spark (pregnant) belongs to _LeggyPoo_. All thanks to her for that! Brilliant idea. Of course Transformers practise responsible sex! LOL

**Chapter 14**

Optimus Prime's hand had hovered for one last, endless moment in front of his crotch, his long fingers spread apart fractionally so snatches of his most intimate self were revealed. The big mech had seemed to draw himself up in preparation for the task ahead of him. Arcee could almost feel her optics begin to burn from the way they were focused so intently on Prime's groin.

His hand moved. Straight out to the side with no hesitation. The most male part of Optimus Prime, legendary Autobot Commander, most beloved mech of femmes everywhere, was now revealed.

There it was. All of it. Every big bit of him. It was there between them like an over-sized flagpole on parade.

Arcee's optics flared brightly. Her optic ridges rose above her lenses. Her jaw sank downwards until it hit the bottom of its hinges with a clink. "Oh!"

Not knowing what else to do with his hands, Optimus rested them on his narrow hips. "Oh?" The big mech frowned, "Is that a good 'oh', or a bad 'oh'?", he enquired politely. His hand wanted to creep back over to cover himself but he squashed that impulse. He knew he had _nothing_ to be shy about. Ironhide had informed him many times that he should show himself off a lot more, if only to aggravate the Decepticons with the gossip over the size of his mechly 'bits'. It made them grind their jaws and howl over an Autobot being far bigger than any 'Con could hope to be (apart from the gestalt's). The rumors that Megatron had started the war because he was pissed off at how big Optimus Prime was may just have been true.

"T-That... that's..." Arcee pulled herself together and leaned over to get a closer look. "A good 'oh'. You're uh," she scratched at her cheekplate distractedly, "quite big. I'd add more than a few lengths to the estimate that Ratchet gave me."

Prime stiffened, blurting, "Ratchet gave you an estimate?"

"Er... yeah. Oops? If anything you need to smack him for under-quoting you. Really."

The femme was right. The length of her illustrious leader that had risen at a sharp angle up over his mid-section was astoundingly impressive. Prime's little soldier was anything but little. Little belonged on the other side of the universe. He was thick, he was long, he was _very_ erect and stiff, and by Primus, if Arcee had been an innocent un-touched femme, she'd have been running for her life. Good thing that she'd had more than enough experience to cope with the, um, obstacle she was being confronted with. Thinking about being underneath him made her spark quiver and emit a loud and long, "YES!".

"Have you ever thought about a reduction?" Arcee offered politely, feeling that she had to break the tense silence.

Optimus covered his optics with one hand and sighed. "Arcee..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I didn't! I shouldn't have said that, I meant it in jest, and it wasn't funny," she grimaced, "sorry?"

Prime removed his hand and looked down at her. She had earnestly placed her hands palm down on his un-armored chest and was peering up at him with a soft expression of concern and apology. He didn't fail to notice that she was holding her abdomen away from him to avoid contacting his erect interface. Sometimes he cursed his own endowment. Being huge wasn't all it was said to be. When he hesitantly smiled down at her she stood up straight, he held his hand out to her and she deftly threaded her fingers through his so their palms came together. His big paw engulfing her femme-sized hand.

"It would be difficult at the moment for me to do anything about myself. I certainly would not mount you in the washracks as your first time with me considering that my size may be uncomfortable for you if I held you against the wall, so perhaps if I turned around and you cleaned out my gritty shoulder that would be the best plan of action, yes?"

Arcee stared up at him in wonder, listening to his deep and utterly awesome voice. He was handsome, he was to die for, he had a mammoth erection waving practically in her face, and he was still being the perfect gentlemech and worrying about how she felt?

Optimus froze and braced himself in shock when she let go of his hand, threw her arms around his waist, pressed her body against his so his interface was trapped warmly between them, and snuggled deeply into him.

"I knew you were the perfect mech for this, I knew it all along," she murmured in a muffled tone against his bare protoform midsection.

"Oh... er... thank you?" Prime delicately lowered his arms to encircle her with his strength. He hugged her close, pressing them together. Neither of them moved or said anything for several minutes. Just quiet hugging and the odd soft sigh combined with the creaking of metallic joints.

"Well then," Arcee pushed herself back from him and rubbed her hands together. Enough feely-feely stuff, it was time to get down to business. Prime needed washing? Oh goody. She was offering an all-in-one wash and wax special today – as long as he turned around so she wasn't confronted with his huge maleness waving in her face and making her knees want to collapse out from under her. He seemed to know her thoughts because he smiled wryly and and turned to face the wall.

"Do my back for me?" he rumbled politely at her over his wide shoulder.

"Certainly." She patted his lower back comfortingly and loaded herself up with cleaning cloths, a brush and her trusty stool. Washing. Washing was good. Now if she could keep a lid on her own rapidly heating up libido as well she'd do just fine. She didn't think she had the strength to wrestle him to the floor and jump his frame in victory, no matter how much fun the concept of tying Prime up like a prized stallion was.

As Arcee began her work on his back, Optimus stared down at the part of himself that was denying his self-control and straining mightily upwards while throbbing with every pulse of his spark. He pointed his finger at it and mouthed silently, 'Behave or else!'. It twitched.

_**Ratchets medbay...**_

"She chose Optimus?"

"That's what I just told you..." Ratchet said smugly, tinkering with the layout of his spotless work tools. Brimming with satisfaction.

"Humph." Ironhide roughly crossed his thick arms over his heavy chest and stared off past Ratchet, grumbling. "I suppose he was the technical choice all along."

"Technical, logical, best and brightest," Ratchet responded cheerfully, enjoying his moment of rubbing Prime's victory in Ironhide's face. "No femme can go past out Prime."

The Weapons Specialist growled deeply, "Will you shut the slag up? There are some things that Prime doesn't have."

Ratchet quietly put down his instruments and peered earnestly into Ironhide's face. "Such as?"

"Not every femme wants it sweet and gentle. Prime's alright for a little while, then the females start clamouring for a _real_ mech, a mech that isn't afraid to show his dominance and get a little rough." Ironhide flexed his arms, his black armor reflecting the bright medbay lights back at Ratchet. "A mech that brings it as hard as he does on the battlefield."

"Animal style from behind?" Ratchet said dryly.

"That and more!" Ironhide pointed a finger back at him, completely missing Ratchet's attempt at making him seem primitively animalistic. "Domination and complete satisfaction. A whole lot more than smooches, polite pelvic thrusting and a cuddle afterwards while watching the sunset."

"Ah, sunsets. Right. Got you." The CMO rolled his optics, laughing silently.

"Yeah." Ironhide grunted, shaking his head. "Anyway, you know what Prime is like. He probably won't even thrust hard the first few times he takes her. He'll be all, 'Oh femme, I don't want to hurt your little body with my big mech part!', you know? Once femmes see how big you are, you should get on with it and show'em what you can do. Show'em the good stuff." He hitched up the corner of his mouthplates. "Not Prime. He'll give her a big gallant speech first then cuddle her delicately for the next few weeks."

"Mmm. Probably." Ratchet made no attempt to stop Ironhide from rambling on like a mech from the outer limits of the galaxy that still believed femmes loved being tossed over his shoulder and taken multiple times from behind.

Ironhide smirked and sat himself down at a medbench, warming up, "You know, I don't think he has what it takes to get her carrying a spark the first time he tries. Arcee might get frustrated, and if she does," the mech made 'come hither' motions with his hands at himself, "she might give up and ask one of us to do it."

"I highly doubt that, Ironhide." Getting bored, Ratchet called up his appointment schedule and checked his roster. "Prime is fully loaded and ready to go. Don't doubt his prowess with the femmes, afthead."

"Prowess, my aft," Ironhide growled, rapping his knuckles on the bench and scowling.

Ratchet gave him an inquisitive look, "Its really rattled you that she didn't pick you, hasn't it?"

"Eh," Ironhide shrugged non-committally.

"What would you have done if she had chosen someone like Bumblebee?"

The black mech looked like someone had just tried to get him to give oral sex to Megatron. "BEE? Holy Primus, he wouldn't know what to do with a femme!" He gesticulated wildly with his arms, "We'd have to draw him some diagrams with things like, part A goes in slot B, repeat until something goes off!"

"C'mon 'Hide, he's not that clueless, give him some credit."

"Humph." Ironhide put his chin in one hand, "When another femme arrives and drags him to her berth in a fit of lust, I'll give him most of the credits in my account, and he better use'em to get some interface fluid restrictors from you so we don't have sparkling Bumblebee's all over the place."

Ratchet didn't know what to say to that.

_**In the washracks...**_

"Done." Arcee dragged her index finger sensuously down Prime's backplates between his shoulder struts, making the big mech shiver. "Everything looks good here. You want to turn around now?"

_Turn around,_ Optimus thought mildly. _Hmmm. _She had been thorough yet bold with her hands as she washed him. He'd been stroked, rubbed and cleaned like she was making love to his back armor – of which he currently didn't have any, so her touch on his bare protoform had coaxed the throb of his spark and his rising desire into an inferno that he had kept under control with a degree of will that he frantically drudged up from the depths of his CPU. She had the hands of a goddess. He didn't know how he hadn't disgraced himself and splattered his male transfluid all over the washrack wall. More than a few times he'd looked sternly down at his little Prime and threatened it to keep quiet. The hands of a femme on his body didn't give it permission to ejaculate messily at will.

Not betraying anything of his feelings with his expression, Prime turned his big hulking frame around to face her. She took a step back to give him room. His hands did not cover himself. His very, _naked_, self.

Arcee was a mature femme. She wasn't hesitant about dropping her gaze to see what had happened to the massive erection he had been sporting earlier. A smile spread over her faceplates. "Still ready to go?"

Optimus decided to not be modest, since she was clearly comfortable with looking boldly at his crotch. "Willing to go wherever you are," he answered calmly. Wearing his maleness like the experienced and noble mech he was.

With a slow blink of her optics, Arcee lifted her hand up to his chest (Optimus breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn't grabbed at his 'handle') and touched the centre seam of his protoform chest, her gentle fingertips feeling the dip in his metal where the plates would part and reveal his spark. Even without his thick armor, he was still big and wide. She jumped when his hand came to rest around her wrist.

"Not yet," he murmured quietly. "That is a surprise that comes last. A spark is not something you should discover for the first time in the washracks."

"True," Arcee acknowledged simply. He let go of her wrist and her hand dropped to her side. "I was just... wondering. What it would be like to see it." Her gaze lifted to meet his gentle one. "We all wonder. Mech or femme, we all wonder what your spark looks like. How we would feel to see it."

"Ah. It is a spark just like any other."

"Yes, but it's _yours_," Arcee said emphatically, "the spark of a Prime."

"And I repeat," Optimus lightly touched her cheekplate with an inquiring hand, "it is a regular spark. Do not give it ethereal qualities. It does everything that a regular spark does. No more."

Hearing him say that, Arcee knew that she could very well be standing before a God. Only such could insist that his spark was normal. She broke the moment by grinning at his excited interface. A God who very desperately need to get off, and he was standing before a female that knew how to do exactly that.

"Unless you can guarantee that Ratchet, Bumblebee or Wheeljack aren't prowling the hallways, you're going to have to get rid of that before we can go back to your quarters," Arcee said, gesturing at his upright self.

"I can make it go down," Optimus suggested boldly, getting courageous.

"Really?" Arcee folded her arms, not believing him but hoping to be impressed. "Go on then."

_Oh pit. Why did I say that?_ Optimus thought desperately.

He tried. He really did. He thought mundane thoughts. He thought painful thoughts. He thought of Ironhide as a female. He thought of Megatron as a female. Oh Primus. That was painful. Next. He thought of someone shooting him in the crotch, probably Ironhide, if anyone.

Nope. Nothing.

"Yes, and there goes the last of the hopeful mechs," Arcee said mildly, grinning like a banshee. "Give it up, Optimus. You're going to have to overload before that goes away." She took a step closer to him, within a whisper of colliding with his stiffness, purring, "And I'm willing to help you with it."

Prime thought of Arcee with her mouth or small hands all over his erection and knew that short of using his sword to cut it off, it was not going down until she did...

"You are offering of your own free will to help me?" he asked, lifting his gaze from his stubborn interface to look into her optics. "I thought... I thought that femmes -"

"Aren't that hot about getting on their knees and using their hands and mouth to bring a mech to overload?" Arcee kept smiling. "True, you could never order me to do it, and I'd pull my rifle on you if you did, but when I see a situation that warrants it, and I feel that the mech respects me and I have equal respect for the mech in question – you – then I have no problems with it. It's only pleasure. So, do you want a hand or not? We can't leave this room until you look more respectable." She patted his arm. "We can do the mouth thing on your berth, but how about using my hand now?"

Optimus thought his CPU would start issuing smoke out of his helmet vents. "Yes...?" His voice had never sounded so squeaky and desperate.

"Great!" She gestured at him, "Turn around and put both hands on the wall, and spread'em."

"The wall? Why?"

The femme lifted her hands up clearly in front of him. "Because these hands are magic and I don't want you collapsing on me."

Deciding not to question her further because she may change her CPU if he aggravated her, Prime dutifully turned to face the wall where the cleansing sprayers were and settled himself into position. Each of his big hands was propped on the tiled wall at his shoulder height. Arcee stepped up behind him. She positioned herself standing next to his right hip and reached out with her right hand. He jerked when she closed her fingers around his hot length.

"Easy..." Arcee chuckled, stroking him experimentally with her fingertips. He was hard and hot. It wouldn't be long before he peaked.

Taking her advice to spark, he tried to relax. It wasn't easy. His optics shuttered closed. This was every mech's fantasy come to life. A femme in the washracks ready and willing to play with him and get him to overload in her hands. He wasn't used to this. When he was with a femme, he was in charge. The female was underneath him in whatever position she desired and he was in control of the pace, the pleasure, and the overload. This? He didn't know what to do with 'this'! Should he thrust his hips into her hand? Was he allowed to moan? Should he give her feedback? Faster, slower? He jumped and unshuttered his optics when her free hand rested itself on his aft encouragingly.

"You're so quiet. Move a little for me," she advised, pushing at his solid aft.

Prime gave her one long assessing glance. Then smiled. "As you wish..."

Rolling his shoulders and settling himself, he openly obeyed. He let his hips begin to move his hard spike into her steady strokes. This was good. It was almost the same sensation as being on top was. His interface was sheathed in something tight, and the hand on his aft was where it would be if the femme was hanging onto him and attempting to control the pace.

He moaned 'Primus' loudly before he could stop himself.

"He speaks! That's more like it!" Arcee chortled. She squeezed him encouragingly. Her hand pumped.

He gave her more. Much more. She was forced to cup her palm underneath his length and hold her hand still when his hips thrust and shoved at a higher speed than she could keep up with. Fearless leader was really getting into it now. He was quite a sight leaning on the wall with his thighs spread and a femme standing close to him and fondling his bare interface.

Arcee watched his lower body flex and grind. He was lifting the centre of his groin slightly upwards at the end of each determined pelvic thrust. The play of hydraulics and bunches of muscle cables in his abdomen were optic-candy for her to oggle. A glance upwards showed her his head was lowered between his braced arms, his optics blazing brightly, and his jaw set in a harsh clench. All that mech power displayed right in front of her adoring gaze. He was so gorgeous, and she was so lucky!

She was caught off guard when he growled, his body strained, he slammed his hips forwards and began to overload. In one smooth co-ordinated movement, his back arched sharply, his head flung back, and he ground his hips into her hand. Long thick spurts of faintly blue transfluid burst from his pulsing interface to cover the wall in front of him. She grinned. This was just what every Autobot femme wanted to see – their fearless mechly commander straining hard and overloading right in front of them.

Prime moaned when she rubbed his bare-protoform abdomen above his shooting spike and made soothing noises.

Finally, Prime's head dropped down between his trembling arms. She withdrew from touching him. He staggered a little before he locked his knee joints and braced against the wall. Some overflow dribbles came from his interface.

"Feel better?" she asked.

His head shifted. His blue optics darkened and fixed her with a piercing gaze from under his lowered optic ridges. "Yes," he rumbled deeply. Then smirked.

Arcee felt like a Decepticon that had just been target-locked by the most fearsome Autobot in existence. She shivered. Such a look from him made her want to throw herself at him and never let go until he gave her multiple overloads one after the other.

Reluctantly removing his predatory gaze from her and pushing away from the wall, he straightened up. He efficiently slicked his hand over his slackening length to clean it off, wiped himself dry, and replaced his crotch armor. A thought hit him. His head jerked up. He stared at her calculatingly - and sniffed. His CPU lit up with the results of his air sampling. Oh. Oh yes.

Arcee yelped when he spun smoothly to face her. He stared at her and began to advance. She took several unsteady steps backwards as he moved in on her. She stammered, "W-What are you doing?"

He kept coming, his presence quiet yet powerful and overwhelming. She couldn't escape from him. He was huge, he was immensely strong, and he was her Commander. And friend.

Her back hit the wall and chipped a few tiles. "Optimus?" She put a hand out and splayed it on his wide chest as he towered over her, his body covering hers and blocking out the light. If she thought he had looked predatory before, he'd just reached a whole new level of, 'You-are-MINE-femme'. She slid her hand further up his chest, pushing at him, "What are you doing?"

He glanced down at her hand on his chest, then met her gaze. Staying silent. Her optics widened at the look he was giving her. With calculating intent, he braced his arms one after the other against the wall on either side of her head and leaned down over her. Keeping her trapped between the wall and him. His head lowered. She yelped when he sweetly nudged her petite noseplate with his broader ones. What on Cybertron was he up to? And where the pit was his leash?

"Why didn't you inform me of your own need to overload?" he rumbled deeply, his optics flashing white once. "I can smell your..." his voice deepened into a low purr, "...arousal." He nudged her chin to the side and pressed his mouth to the side of her bared neck, tasting her. "You want me." He nipped at a bared cluster of wires. "Don't you?" It wasn't a question he needed her to verbally answer.

Arcee's optics nearly rolled backwards into her head. "Ugh... oh Primus." Her feminine port was lubricating so much it was going to overflow through her armor and trickle down her inner thighs. She clutched at his head while he nibbled at her. "Y-Yeah... but-"

His face was suddenly filling her vision. "My quarters." His hand grabbed her chin gently and his thumb brushed over her open mouth. "Now."

"Now?"

His optics narrowed. "NOW."


	15. Chapter 15

**Waiting**

**WARNING! **Graphic sticky sex ahead! Adults only allll the way!

Authors Note: I don't know what to say. I've never said before that I think what I've just written is good or even satisfactory, but for probably the one (and only!) time, I'm going to blow my own trumpet here. This chapter is INSANE! I'm happy, I'm ecstatic, I think I'm even frigging _glowing_ about this one! Optimus Prime and Arcee fans, put down everything and just enjoy the ride. I've worked and re-worked this chapter to the point where I can say I've done my best, and it seems pretty good to me! Hope you all like it as much I do.

**Chapter 15**

It all seemed far too dreamy and unrealistic to Arcee.

Here she was, being carried down the corridor by the Autobot alpha male; Commander Optimus Prime; being taken to his personal quarters for some intimate time with him, with the intention that Prime would sire a special sparkling for her. For the Autobots. Indeed, for the entire Cybertronian race. What was left of them, anyway. Could be a handful, could be a couple of hundred. Who knew? Whatever the figure, it was about to be 'plus one'.

Earlier, Optimus had gathered Arcee into his arms in the wash racks, shushed her gasps with his mouthplates covering hers, then taken off down the corridor, heading for his personal quarters. He'd captured a femme and he was not to be stopped or distracted by _anyone_. He was on a mission.

Arcee let the side of her head rest against his large protoform chest, listening to his systems and his spark produce a steady thrum against her audio. It was nice being carried along. Nice to see things from the comfort, pleasure and safety of Prime's arms. His embrace. She could so easily get used to this. He was warm, comfy, delectable and utterly dreamy.

They passed the entrance to the medbay, whereupon Ratchet ducked his head out the door; grinned at them, then retreated.

"Arcee?"

She looked up to see Optimus peering down at her with softly glowing intent optics. He still had that delightfully intense expression on his face that made her feel all naughty, yet treasured, at the same time. Predatory Prime. Marauding Prime. A Prime about to show a female everything that he could do with his mechly qualities to make sure she had the time of the millennium with him.

"Huh?" She cursed herself. Romance heroines being carried aloft by their hero didn't mutter stupid things like, 'Huh?'!

Prime smiled at her in that demurely sexy way of his, making her spark flutter excitedly. "Slide open the door?"

"Oh yeah, sure."

She reached out and pushed the door to his rooms open, aided by a shove with his large foot from underneath her. Despite their advanced and drool worthy alien technology, none of them had bothered creating or adding automated doors to their quarters. It was push and pull only. It worked, so what was wrong with that?

Carrying his feminine cargo, Optimus manoeuvred his big body through the doorway, turning his wide shoulders sideways to make it through. She squeaked when he lowered her to her feet in such a way that she mostly slid down the front of his body with lots of intimate contact. He kept his gaze steady on her as he reached out with one deft hand and pulled the door shut without looking at it. A loud click signalled that it had been locked. Only a signal from his own system would unlock it.

Arcee shivered, her gaze glued to the body of the mech standing proudly in front of her. She was locked in with one very big, very aroused, very gorgeous, male. The mech that she had chosen to sire a new life with her. She wouldn't be leaving until he had finished with her body, finished coaxing her systems to join with his and create a sparkling. The moment she walked out the door (if she could walk, because after having Prime between her legs, staggering inelegantly might be the order of the day), it would be with a sparkling orb within her chest.

Arcee had been to Prime's quarters before. She'd been there just last week. Looking around now, not much had changed. The walls were still a serviceable and calming blue. There was a big table and several chairs in his rec room slash office that his front door opened onto. An office desk in the corner. All neat and uncluttered. He had some shelves on the walls, all bearing various knick knacks from Earth and whatever had been stored in his subspace pocket from his travels around the universe. Things he had been given, or more rarely, items he had collected for himself. Some of them she couldn't say what they were, and who cared? There was a room tucked away to the left of the rec room that she was looking forward to seeing again. A special room.

Prime's room. His berth room. The place where he recharged, rested... and fragged willing femmes until they screamed with overload and scratched his paint job with hands clenched in absolute pleasure.

"Are you ready for this?"

Prime's soft words made her look up to meet his serious optics with her own. She smiled back at him, "Am I ready to become a carrying femme? Yes. If you're also asking if I am ready to be mech-handled by you and accept your systems without hesitation into my own," she placed her hand softly onto his chest, patting him, "I say yes to that too."

His expression softened for a moment. "Good. That I am glad to hear." The softness didn't last. His chest plates expanded proudly and dominantly, and his optics dimmed and narrowed. He leaned down and brushed his mouthplates over her cheekplate, murmuring, "I believe you have an appointment with my berth..." and gestured at her to move into his berth room. "After you."

Feeling like she was floating along and not really here, she walked as best she could on very nervous legs to his berth room. He followed behind her, a large and dominant presence. She hesitated just inside the doorway as the overhead lights switched on automatically.

Arcee stood with her mouth open, "Oh!"

Optimus had changed a few things since she had been here a week ago. His berth had been expanded in size and an extra layer of gel cushioning added to its top surface. Prime or someone else had also given the room a new coat of paint, with the walls done in the same red as his legendary flames. The berth and furniture had been done over in a nice sky blue, with accents of chrome and grey. A few extra spot lights in the ceiling were giving the berth a soft angel glow. She could see the night sky through the high panoramic window in the far wall. It all looked very pleasant. Enticing.

Arcee stiffened when Optimus Prime's large hands settled onto her shoulders from behind. "I brightened things up for you. Females appreciate good decorating, do they not?"

"They, uh... yes, of course we do," she murmured, staring at the huge recharge berth. "I do." This was it. This was the main event. Up and at'em, femme.

Letting go of her, Prime walked straight up to his own berth and turned to face her. Silently, with a soft grin, he held his hand out to her, palm upwards. An invitation to join him.

She stared at him. Taking in what he looked like. She was used to seeing him in his normal guise, his long powerful limbs and body covered by the brightly painted heavy armor that made up his truck mode, what he looked like as the Autobot Commander that they all knew and loved. This armor-less version of him was sleeker... and if anything, arguably more seductive. After retracting or downsizing his exterior metal skin in the wash racks to grab her attention, he was showing her what he looked like as his normal self without any military attachments. It was all disorientating, and dangerously enticing. Not every femme was lucky enough to get so close to him, let alone be invited onto his berth.

A few steps forward and her hand was sliding into his. His stocky fingers closed gently around her smaller digits. She let him pull her against his waiting body. Her optics shuttered close when he used his other hand to trace his forefinger over her parted mouthplates.

"You will need to remove the last final pieces of your armor," he said softly.

At her mental command – deciding that if her big Commander could bravely show himself to her and allow her to bring him openly to overload in the wash racks, she could be so open too – her armor slid and absorbed itself into her protoform. She was now essentially naked before him. Her freely-lubricating feminine port between her legs was uncovered. He was too tall to see it fully, but it wouldn't be much longer before he had an optic full of it. Together, they were now two Cybertronians; one male, one female; in their base mode protoforms.

Optimus studied her standing demurely before him completely open and as the humans would say, 'butt naked'. She was almost half his height, and yet she packed an awful lot of bravery, skill, beauty and intelligence into her frame so that it never mattered to him or the other mechs that she was so small. He had been hoping that she would choose Bumblebee as her partner. He saw them as a good match. For a while, he had set aside his growing attachment to her and only acted as her superior officer. An officer that cared deeply for her well-being. To see her standing before him now and preparing for him to boldly join them together physically with their interfaces, and electrically and emotionally with their sparks, made the feelings he kept locked down in his chest swell happily for her.

Arcee had kept still and silent, waiting for his reaction. When he stayed quiet she glanced up and blinked at him, "Better?"

A small, very male, smile, "Better. Very much better. Thank you."

His optics roved over her bared physique. Despite the overload her hand had given him earlier, his libido was raging against his self-control. His CPU instinctively recognised an aroused and un-armored female in his presence, and it was acting as the cheering squad for his interface drive, yelling, 'Go,GO,_GO_!' to his concious self.

She ducked his gaze for a second, before glancing boldly up at him. "When was the last time you, uh, did this?"

"This? Sired a sparkling?" he looked a bit confused, "Never. You know this."

"No, no, I mean, interfaced with a femme. Or did a spark merge," she clarified.

"Ah." An emotion she couldn't identify passed over his handsome features. "A very long time ago. A while before the final battle on Cybertron." His optic ridges lifted up comically, "Do you think I am out of practise?"

She laughed, "No! Oh no. I wouldn't doubt that you would be anything but brilliant and assured at doing your mech thing." She patted his bare abdomen. "I trust you."

Unlike Arcee, the last bit of metal covering Prime's crotch had to be removed by hand. And he did so, letting Arcee watch as he reached down, removed his covering, subspaced it, then held his hand out to her. She missed his hand gesture. She was far too occupied with staring at his explicitly bared male interface. The moment he had shucked his covering, the long thick component had risen up to stand stiff and proud out from of his groin like a third arm.

"This is just an observation, but it doesn't take much to get you ready to mate, does it?" Arcee said, smirking faintly.

"No," Optimus rumbled, "for better or for worse, my interface drive has never disappointed me with its eagerness. It has lowered its intensity from my younger years. Ask Ratchet if you want to know how, ah, _voracious_ I was with the femmes back then. Now, I mostly have control over it."

He casually slipped his hand down to her crotch by bending over her, covering her exposed port with his hand and testing her readiness by lightly probing the outer rim of it with a finger. Arcee gasped and grabbed at his forearms. He smiled, "I am not the only one excited." His finger pressed gently deeper and she hissed in pleasure, hunching her hips against his hand. Wanting more. Another of his fingers joined the first. Probing. He judged her to be well slicked up with lubricant and her port stretched easily around his fingers. She was good to go. "Easy. I'm just checking if you're physically ready to be mounted." He patted her back with his free hand, listening to her suck air into her intakes and press her face against his chest.

Removing his hand from her, he slipped his arms around her and let her lean on him. "Alright?"

She grunted at him, holding onto him in a hug. "If you think you have a high interface drive, you haven't seen mine yet."

A male chuckle came back at her. "We shall see." He jerked in surprise when she gripped his erection in one hand.

"Yes, we will," she said pleasantly, lifting her head to eye him off wickedly.

His control almost slipped, but he kept it together. He nudged her softly, "Berth, femme. Now."

Arcee let go of him as she was lifted up like a sparkling and splayed out on her back upon his berth. He climbed on top of her, hovering himself over her on all fours, opening his thick thighs so his knees where spread by the sides of her legs, his hands laid flat next to her head so his straight arms were propping him up over her torso. She was tiny compared to him. Arcee wondered if she should ask what position he was going to use. She lost that thought when his head bent over her neck and he mouthed the junction of her throat and shoulder.

"Oh... that's nice." She gripped the back of his head - liking it even more when he delicately began adding open-mouthed bites to his exploring. She stretched her head back as he swapped sides and began working up the other side of her neck.

He worked over her upper body, keeping an optic on her responses and working out what she liked and didn't like. He wasn't going to rush this. It was going to be done right and to the satisfaction of both of them.

"Do you mind if I look at you down below?"

In her blissed out state, Arcee focused on him, "What? You're really asking that?" Playfully, she put her hand on his forehead and shoved him, "Optimus sweetie, if I hadn't wanted you to do that I wouldn't have disarmored myself! I have had mechs look at me before, you know!"

Taking that as a 'yes, please do', he smiled at her then shifted himself downwards until his head was even with her waist and sat back on his heels. There it was. The prize that every mech fantasised about when it came to the opposite gender - an uncovered and open femme port. Lying back comfortably, Arcee watched him. He lowered his gaze from hers and put one hand on her hip while the other... began stroking, rubbing and exploring her very wet port. His 'little Prime' – his erect interface - appreciated the view too. It twitched and trembled to his movements, as if it could sense all by itself how close it was to its femme counterpart. It wanted in!

"Oh Primus..." Arcee arched up into his hand and let her thighs fall apart around him. Pit, he was good! "I'm going to – AH! - overload if you keep doing that!" She pushed her crotch up at him.

"You are allowed to have more than one," he said wryly, "I have yet to make an order saying only one overload per femme per day." He sneakily slid two fingers inside of her and pumped them. "Do you like this?"

She wanted to scream at him. Of course she liked it! But this was too much, she wasn't going to last, slag, wasn't he supposed to be bringing her to climax while his interface was inside of her port? This was just mucking around! She was too excited. Too aroused for him. Too close to coming. If he didn't stop...

"That's it! Stop play-aaRRGH!"

Her vision went hazy and bright as she exploded into her climax when he kept two fingers snuggled firmly in her port and simultaneously pressed his thumb carefully to the round node at the top apex of her slit – then applied gentle but persistent pressure. He leaned over her in delight with his fingers deep inside of her, watching her writhe, shudder and cry her way through her first overload with him. He growled and hunched his shoulders when a surge of imminent climax rippled through his own systems. He ground his jaw hard. His erection wanted to go off. He fought with it. Not. Yet. Not. YET. He was right on the edge where he could go either way – explode in multiple spurts or reduce his desire to a hot simmer instead of a fire. Thankfully, his CPU won. His erection stayed unhappily intact and unfulfilled.

"Ugh." She sagged back down to lie flat. Her optics flickered. Her body gave one last shaky spasm and left her limp and dazed on her back. She eventually focused on him. "Slagger."

Having successfully fought off ejaculating all over her, he brought himself back up over the her and smirked, "You're the first femme I've brought to overload on my berth on this planet."

She stared at him. "What, expecting many more, are you?" She lifted her hand and smacked him playfully in the shoulder, "You keep score by counting femmes and planets together for easy reference?"

He shook his head, poking one finger into her chest and winking one optic at her, "Hardly. Just making an observation."

Arcee covered her face with her hands, groaning, "What is it with mechs that they have to keep count of their conquests..?"

"Conquests? I don't refer to females as 'conquests', that is Ironhide's department, not mine," Prime rumbled deeply. The berth shook slightly when he laid his heavy bulk down next to her so he was lying on his side and opened his arms. "Come on. How about a hug?"

She snorted at him. He did look good. All handsome, powerful, and utterly mechly. Especially with that rude stiffness standing out from his groin. And what femme could resist _that_ big chest? Giving in, she rolled over towards him and let him take hold of her and bring her right up against him. She slid one of her legs in between his thighs, sighing happily.

"I've missed this," she murmured, snuggling in. It was so nice to have a male to lean on sometimes.

He rested his head on top of hers and rubbed his hand up and down her back, enjoying holding onto her, "You are not the only one. The humans talk about their species needing regular hugging. I suspect the same can be said for ours."

"Hugging or fragging?"

He patted her cheek, "Both."

"Yes." Her optics looked down at the big 'Hello there!' she was getting from his unsatisfied stiffness that she was curled around. "Um... you haven't come yet. Aren't you going to-"

"Overload?" A very dominating expression spread over his features. Yes, it was time to get this femme carrying. No more playing. "Yes," he purred, "I believe so."

The sudden drop in tone of his voice was the only notice she got. In one smooth, battlefield-primed movement, he gripped her waist and neatly flipped her over so she was facing away from him. Being 'spooned' by him. She squeaked when he pulled her hips hard back into his crotch, giving her no say in what he was doing. She outright yelped when his hand reached over her waist and between her legs. Keeping them both balanced on their sides, he inserted his fingers once more into her lubricated port.

Tucking her head into the space underneath his chin, he slid his fingers in and out of her, scissoring them, feeling her insides with his blunt fingers, listening to her gasp and moan. She was certainly much more prepared and slicked up to take his above-average dimensions within her body without discomfort.

"Are you ready? This is what you wanted, what you asked me for." He pushed her head to the side and bit her shoulder hard enough to sting. She jerked. "Do you accept me willingly and without reservation?" His tone was demanding. He put his hand under her jaw and made her look back up at him. "_Do you_?"

She cried out, pushing herself back at him. "YES!"

Satisfied, he withdrew his fingers from her port, lifted her outer thigh up into the air so she was splayed open for him, positioned his erect interface where it needed to be so the thick head of it fitted nicely to her entrance – and thrust himself inside of her from behind.

Arcee shouted, arching back into him. One hand reached behind her to grab at his hips while the other tried to get a grip on the pliable surface of the recharge berth so she could withstand the jolting he was handing out to her body. Thanks to his earlier play with her, she was loose enough and lubricated enough to fully take him.

He growled, making another bite to her shoulder and holding on with his jaw for a few demanding insertions. He was thrusting hard and deep, going in until his groinplates met flush with her aft and he was in her right down to the base of his erection. Just when Arcee felt that she was going to overload that instant, he jerked his hips back and left her empty. She swore at him and tried to pull him back. Easily ignoring her grabbing hands because his strength and experience was ten times hers, he got her onto her back again, put his hands on the inside of her thighs to spread her open and dropped his body down over hers so she was staring up at his wide chest.

While she got firm handholds on the sides of his chest and tugged at him desperately, he held himself up on one arm, reached down to guide his stiffness back inside of her, and steadily pushed in deep. Very deep. This time he stayed all the way inside of her for a few beats of his spark. Keeping still and planted. She lifted her legs up and managed to just get her heels hooked onto his thighs.

"Move~!" One hand punched his chest. Using her heels as leverage, she pumped her crotch at him, "Optimus!"

Never one to deny a femme, he came back out of her so only the head of him was at her entrance. He caught her gaze. Her mouth was open and her optics had lightened to almost pure white, while his own were turning purple with a combination of lust and desire. He gave her the kind of male smile that was dominating and totally sure of himself, a smile that would have been interpreted as evil and triumphant if it had been on the face of a Decepticon.

Arcee was going nuts. He was over her, in her, he was all she could think or feel. She had _Optimus Prime _between her legs. It was a ride that she was going to replay and remember for the rest of her long life. Faintly, she realised that if this was the way Prime sired sparklings, she was going to demand he give her a dozen more! She wanted to spend the rest of lifetime underneath him as he thrusted away. Was that too much to ask? He was big. He was the biggest rush she'd ever, _ever_, experienced. The other mechs she'd been with were being left behind by his sheer brilliance. Had every Prime in Cybertrons history been this good? Her optics wanted to invert themselves from the pleasure and end up in the back of her head. Whatever reservations she may have had about being uncomfortable when he thrust inside of her was totally forgotten. She loved it.

For his part, the Autobot Commander was swearing at himself that he would never again let such a long period of time pass again before he got inside of a female! He knew some of his circuits were frying themselves. Ratchet would be flinging his tools at him for making so much work for him to fix. This was incredible. He often denied any strong feelings of maleness or pride that he had, and kept them locked down, and now he was revelling in just being a big, strong, mech with a complaint female at his command spread out underneath him. His modesty had gone the way of Megatron – straight to the bottom of the deepest trench on Earth.

A sloppy grin spread over his face when he caught Arcee's optics with his own and realised that he got to watch her as she was beginning to climax. From the way her legs squeezed around him, she was there. She arched up into his body, and her jaw dropped open. Her optics flashed. Her vocaliser shorted out and she thrashed silently in overload under him, her head jerking in spasms. Fingers digging into him. He couldn't think after that. His own overload was surging through him like lightning.

Arcee lay gasping and shuddering in the aftermath of her climax, staring up at the mass of mech on top of her. Unlike her own vocaliser, Prime's was fully operational. He roared. A long drawn out sound that ended with a scream that shocked her. He was obviously ejaculating himself into her. His hips held her pinned to the berth. His thrusts became ragged and impossibly deep until he made a few last gasps and his body came to a heaving halt. All through his mounting and taking of her, he had kept himself from squashing her by resting his upper body on his stiffened arms. Now he looked like he was about to collapse.

"...Optimus...?" Her voice crackled as she whispered. She lifted her hand to his drooping head and touched his cheekplate with her fingers. "Optimus? Hey." She let her legs relax and drop off from hanging onto his body. "Say something."

He got himself back together. With his head down, he was staring at where he was still joined to her. Still between her legs. Still pressing his interface deeply inside of hers. If he stayed there long enough he was sure he could bring himself to overload again.

"Ugh..." He shuddered. Lifted his head slowly. His optics blinked. She was smiling at him. "Are you..." he gulped and shook his head slightly to clear it, "Are you alright?"

Her optics shuttered closed while she drew a deep breath in through her intakes. "Oh yes... why wouldn't I be?" She looked up at him again. "That was," she grinned widely, searching for the right word, "_awesome_." The silly shaky grin that stretched his mouthplates told her he was quite happy with it as well. Then his optics widened. "What?", she asked.

Once again, he took control. There was one last thing left to do. Bringing her body up off the berth and up to his chest in a protective motion, he grasped her tightly to him and rolled onto his back. Surprised, she let him do what he wanted. She did protest when he held her up so his sagging satisfied interface was removed from inside of her. She wanted to keep him inside of her even though he was going limp. Not answering her – his voice felt frozen – he put his hands on her hips and stared up at her. Then she realised.

"Oh! We need to..."

Her voice died. His chest was opening. The plates that made up his chest and upper torso were retracting and transforming. From her perch on his waist, she watched it happen. This was his spark. This was the merge they need to do. The fun wasn't over yet!

The moment his chestplates were spread open, the spherical casing that contained his spark split open. A ball of crackling white fire with blue lightening appeared from the depths of his open chest. Just like she had imagined it would be – and totally nothing like her dream had been where he was tiny – his spark was magnificent.

"Arcee..." Optimus coughed to get his vocaliser back. He concentrated. "_Arcee_."

By force of will, she tore her optics away from his powerfully pulsing spark hovering in its chamber and met his optics. He smiled at her, a happy smile, and held his hands out to her. This was it. If she wanted that sparkling, she needed to merge her spark with his as the final act of joining. Her reproductive chamber was currently holding his transfluid, waiting for the surge of power from his spark that would ignite a sparkling orb into existence and absorb his transfluid into itself.

She didn't know she was shaking until she watched her hands reach out to grip his. Her wobbly hands settled into his grasp. Almost as a distant thought, she commanded her chestplates to open. He supported her to lean downwards, down over, and into, his chest. She stretched out on top of his over-heated body. Her optics glanced up at his face and stayed locked onto his as their sparks flared, reached out with searing energy -

- and merged with each other in a flash of light that put the explosion of a star to shame.


	16. Chapter 16

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Thanks for all the reviews, guys! Yes, only one or two chapters left now. In case anyone is getting confused, this fic is set before TF2: ROTF. I'm using Sideswipe and Sunstreaker in their cartoon forms as Lamborghini's, and they have proper feet instead of wheels like ROTF Sideswipe does. Similarly, Arcee is not a set of three motorbikes in this, and she has a car mode (a Lotus) instead of a bike mode.

**Chapter 16**

Arcee curled up into herself. Her arms and hands folded up into her chest. Her knees drawn up to her midsection. Her head down. The shock (and pleasure) of the spark merge had left her neural circuitry sizzling and fritzing.

Still on top of Optimus Prime and relying on him to support her sagging body since she was partially knocked out and reeling from the powerful spark merge, Arcee felt like someone had artificially dimmed her vision, making everything seem blurry and unreal. The same with her hearing. Sound was muted and confusing to her audios. How she was feeling was similar to the effects she felt when Ratchet had heavily sedated her for a medical procedure. There, but not there. Buffered against reality. Finally, with meaningless murmurs, she sank down into a memoryless recharge.

Having endured thousands of years of the extremes that his body could cope with due to the war, Optimus Prime was faring better than his femme partner was. Sure, he was tired, his systems were reeling with the impact of what he'd just demanded of them, but as long as he could lie down he was able to stay awake and do some thinking.

He eased her body down from being on top of his, cradling her to his chest and rolling over onto his side while he stretched his legs out. Gathering her closely to him, he held onto her. Watching over her. Soothing her with his hand on her back and a small rocking motion when she whimpered and twitched. Her chestplates had closed automatically after the merge, just as his had. He wondered if they had done it. 'It' being creating a sparkling. If they had, there was no way he was giving into his roaring interface drive and doing another interface the moment she roused from her recharge like he would've done with any other willing femme on his berth. This was not a regular jaunt purely for pleasure. What they had done together was for a purpose. Not indulgence. He smirked faintly. Well, okay, it had been incredibly pleasurable and something he wanted to do again. Now. But he would restrain himself since he had no idea if it was safe to interface with her if she _was_ carrying a sparkling orb in her reproduction chamber.

He frowned. He should've asked Ratchet what was safe and what wasn't safe with regards to interfacing afterwards, before they had started. It hadn't been an issue before with any other femme he'd had on his berth. This was a first.

An emotion welled up inside of his chest that he was familiar with. An emotion he had been awkwardly and firmly shoving down for many of the years since Arcee had arrived on earth. His growing love for her. He had her in his private quarters, on his berth, and in his arms, and she was recharging and totally unaware of what he was doing when he pushed his face into the side of her neck, squeezed her tightly and keened to himself soundlessly. In a faint and hoarse voice he murmured quietly but dominantly against her protoform skin;

"..._Mine_..."

He was now much more than only her Commander and friend. He was now her lover, and possibly, the sire of her sparkling if everything had worked as it should. If things continued the way they were, she may very well be his future sparkmate. That made him grin and shut out everything except the way she felt against his body and the quick steady throb of her spark in her chest. A spark that knew his now. Even if everything went to the pit, they would always carry a part of each other that could never be forgotten or erased.

He wasn't that surprised when his internal comlink beeped with an incoming message. He checked the ID and rolled his optics tiredly.

Ratchet.

_::Well?::_

Prime smiled at his CMO's blunt and demanding tone. He knew what the medic wanted but he wasn't going to make it easy for him. He braced himself for a short but demanding comlink discussion and sent his reply. _::Excuse me? 'Well' what?::_

At the other end of the transmission, Ratchet huffed, _::You're not excused. Did you do your business with Arcee or not? Don't tell me you carried her all the way to your quarters just to play chess. I heard you roaring, it was at a decibel level much higher than your usual night-time activities. Only being with a femme could make you so vocal, and I know - ::_

Optimus got a word in before Ratchet could continue and become more crude. _::She is here on my berth and resting comfortably. We have interfaced and spark merged, and I shall bring her to you when she wakes up and feels like moving. NOT BEFORE.::_

If Ironhide or anyone else had been present in the medbay, they would have witnessed Ratchet doing an impromptu jig that had him looking like a female human from the Royal Ballet. _::Optimus, my friend, I'm positive that Arcee is carrying the next generation of the Prime lineage without any problem at all. Keep me posted – about EVERYTHING. I'll be waiting for you.:: _He cut the transmission.

Prime's optic ridges lifted up on his forehead in surprise. Apart from the crack about his night-time activities, Ratchet had been unexpectedly civilised and reasonable. Huh. He had been prepared to have the cranky CMO break down his door, grab Arcee, and make off to his medbay with her while he lay on his back and stared up at the ceiling with his chestplates open, wondering where his femme had gone to.

He gazed down at Arcee curled into his body and brushed her cheekplate with the back of his hand, "Rest comfortably, 'Cee. Ratchet is going to put you through the works when you awake." He sighed and tucked her head neatly under his chin, "But I'll be there with you. I won't let him harass you into stasis lock. Promise." He squeezed her lovingly, "Always."

_**Outside the base, adjacent to the residential quarters...**_

Just arriving back from his across-country training mission, Ironhide stalked along the outside wall of the base where the personal quarters of each Autobot were located, with the Twins – Sunstreaker and Sideswipe – coming up behind him. The sturdy strong legs of Ironhide had managed to leave the younger mechs far enough behind him that he was able to pause for a moment just outside the small vent in the wall of Optimus Prime's quarters. He bent over fractionally, took a long sampling of air in through his noseplates – and smirked strongly. Ozone. Quite a bit of it. He grinned widely, his optics darkening while thinking that Prime must have really gone all out on his special femme mission to make the smell of a spark merge strong enough to linger in the open air.

"Ha! Commander Femme Magnet has been busy..." the big black mech rumbled deeply in a low tone, lifting an optic ridge, then continued stomping his way along to the washracks.

Covered in dirt, mud, pollution and other disgusting organic matter (Ironhide never took into account that while his alt mode was perfectly suited to getting filthy dirty, the alt modes of his fellow soldiers were not as accommodating), Sideswipe glared crankily at the older warrior.

"What? WHAT?" Sides demanded, disdainfully swiped off a sampling of mud from his shoulder and tossed it at Ironhide as he disappeared around the corner ahead of them, just missing the broad back of the senior male. "What on Cybertron was he muttering about?"

Sunstreaker's face was set in a permanent disgusted scowl. His hands were in fists by his sides, held stiffly away from his mud-crusted yellow body. "I. Don't. CARE. Get out of my way, afthead!"

Sideswipe watched his brother tramp past, then shrugged and began going forwards again – only to jerk to a halt with his optics flaring. "Oh." He sniffed more delicately, "OH!", then began trotting after his bro with a delighted expression on his faceplates. "Hey Sunny, OPTIMUS GOT SOME!"

The tall golden tower that was Sunstreaker stopped moving in shock. "He WHAT?"

Sideswipe began animatedly jabbering and waving his arms, "Prime's quarters, ozone, Arcee, Ironhide laughing – Optimus and Arcee have been screwing each other!". Just to make himself absolutely clear, Sideswipe pumped his hips lewdly.

Sunstreaker made a face. "That is disgusting. Optimus is, like, too _old_ for that. And Sides, you glitch, now I can't get the image of him on top of Arcee _out of my head_! ARGH! I need a re-boot!"

_**Optimus Prime's quarters...**_

The Autobot Commander was dozing in light recharge with his huge frame relaxed and quiet when Arcee began to to rise out of her recharge programs.

She felt tired. Sluggish. Like her body was struggling to fight off exhaustion. It was a strange tiredness, because she felt quite happy despite her weariness. She blinked at the wall of male chest she was staring at in front of her face, in front of her noseplates. The last time she had seen that particular chest, the plates of it had been spread wide open... and she... and he...

Arcee's hands grabbed painfully onto the ridges of the chest, "Optimus?"

Prime surged awake, his optics flashing sapphire blue. Arcee found herself pulled into his body when the arm he had been resting over her waist tightened reflexively. A rumbling purr emitting from a combination of his chest and throat made her spark begin to thump in time with it. Big blazing optics captured her gaze and wouldn't let her go.

"I apologise for sounding very unromantic and matter-of-fact, but," Prime lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb over her cheekplate as he spoke, "are all your systems functional? No errors, strange sensations, odd code or anything that just doesn't seem right?"

"Uh..." Arcee struggled to process her thoughts, taking her optics from his by shuttering them.

Because he had spark merged with her, she had the faintest emotional and electrical link to his systems. She could sense _him_ as a kind of weight and presence inside her spark. In her chest. She'd felt it before, she had merged with other males, she wasn't innocent, but to think and realise that she had Optimus Prime linked into her systems via his nannites from his transfluid and the lingering energy of his spark merged with hers was quite overwhelming. Unless they spark-shared several more times and built up that link, the effect would fade in the next few Earth weeks. Optimus couldn't read her thoughts, that wasn't the way the link worked, but whenever she had a strong emotion he would feel it, just like she would for him when he felt something strongly and she would feel him as _there_ until it faded naturally. This link was also blocking her from knowing if she had a sparkling orb inside her chest. Bummer, that.

It was all over now. This was the aftermath. Prime had out-done himself with his display of experience and talent. She'd never had a mech be so perfect on the berth. He'd coaxed her along, taken her hand, ensured she was ready, driven her to fever pitch with need for him, then taken her body and put it under his complete command and done his mechly best to produce a sparkling within her while she was almost senseless with pleasure.

He could have politely and dispassionately interfaced with her, performed a routine sparkmerge, then patted her on the shoulder and left her alone.

He hadn't.

Her big lovable Commander had just about driven himself over the edge with putting on such an amazing performance that it wasn't likely to be matched by any other mech in the universe ever again. Damn, he was brilliant. She wished she could think it over more but her head was beginning to throb.

"Ratchet, need Ratchet," Arcee said hoarsely with her forehead resting on his chest, wanting to go and see the CMO and get verified if she was carrying or not.

When Prime reacted by looking horrified and leaping off the berth with her held tightly to his body, she suddenly realised that he thought she meant she had been hurt or injured somehow and needed emergency treatment.

"No, no, no! Not hurt! I'm not hurt!" she blurted frantically, grabbing at whatever part of his upper body was in reach to hang on to him as he tore open the door to his quarters and began sprinting down the hallway in long fast strides. _Primus, was that the wrong thing to say!_, Arcee swore at herself, being shaken all over the place in his arms by his rapid movements, _Don't ever make him think it's an emergency! Well, he's taking me where I wanted to go, even if it is at light speed!_

Coming out of his quarters after giving himself an indulgent wax, Bumblebee squeaked and slammed himself back against his own door when Prime thundered past and uncharacteristically didn't care that Bee was in the way of being trampled. He stared at his disappearing Leader with wide optics – then made a snap decision to follow him. If Optimus was running like that, it must mean something was going down, and he wanted to help. He started running.

Slouching in the doorway to the washracks and waiting for his brother to finish his pampering, Sideswipe heard all the commotion before he saw it. He straightened up and blinked his optics rapidly as first Optimus ran past carrying a yelping Arcee in his arms, then Bumblebee came along sprinting behind him as a yellow blur with his battlemask down over his face.

"What the pit was all that about?" Ironhide growled, leaning over Sideswipe and carelessly dripping water onto the red Lamborghini.

"Prime and Arcee! Somethin' is going down!", Sideswipe blurted. He pushed Ironhide roughly away from leaning over him and followed after the others in swift movements. Unlike the other two mechs, his body was much more suited to athletic pursuits. In both his Lamborghini guise and his bipedal mode, he was fast.

Ironhide grumbled. Whatever was going on, he needed to know about it. Optimus never sprinted anywhere unless something serious was happening. There was no all-out alert being broadcast over his comlink, so he was guessing that it was something non-military that was getting up Prime's aft and making him sprint like a youngling. Most probably it had something to do with his time with Arcee. The black mech went after his fellow Autobots with fast walking strides and a few curses.

A very wet Sunstreaker poked his head out of the washracks door. "Where did everybody go?"

_**Ratchet's medbay...**_

Ratchet had received a frantic emergency message from Optimus and was well-prepared when several tons of terrified mech burst into his calm medbay and raced for the nearest medbench – which also happened to be where Ratchet was standing with his gameface on. The CMO had his bench, equipment, and overhead lights all set up and ready to go.

Arcee grunted uncomfortably when she was laid out on the bench by her desperate Commander. Ratchet immediately leaned over her as Optimus pulled back. She gave Prime a disgruntled look as Ratchet began sweeping multiple scans over her body.

"What is the problem? Are you injured? Are your systems malfunctioning?" Ratchet intoned, barely looking at her faceplates while he visually examined her body and analysed the results from his preliminary scans.

"I'm FINE!" Arcee exclaimed, trying to sit up, "There's nothing wrong!"

Ratchet gave her an indulgent glance, then pushed her back down onto the berth and gently held her there. He gave Prime a hard stare while simultaneously sliding an access catheter into Arcee's wrist port with experienced fingers by touch alone and setting up an energon drip, "Optimus? What is this about? What's the problem?"

The big Commander stood frozen with his arms held up defensively in front of him. His jaw worked up and down. "I... I... I didn't hurt her! She said she needed you, she sounded like she was in pain! She just kept repeating your name!"

Arcee groaned. Jerking her wrist from Ratchet's grasp, she covered her face with her hands. None of them noticed the pile-up of mechs that had just screeched to a halt inside the medbay doors and were watching everything that was going on. The interlopers were mostly hidden from Arcee and Ratchet by Prime's big bulk.

All of his scans and data told Ratchet that apart from one small, very significant factor, Arcee was perfectly functional. There was nothing wrong with her. He leant his hands on the bench and gave Prime a disappointed expression of 'what-did-you-do'? "Did you hurt her? Were you too big for her to handle?"

"NO!" Optimus was getting frantic. He shook his head hard from side to side, waving his hands around. "I didn't! I made sure she was ready for me! There wasn't any problem with the interfacing at all, and the sparkmerge was fine!"

Into the heavy silence following that enlightening admission from Prime, there was a combination of gasps, snickers, and expressions of 'Primus, did he just say what I thought he said?' from the Autobot gallery crowding the medbay doorway. No one doubted that Optimus was talking about what he had been up to with the Autobots only female.

Ratchet angled his head to look behind Optimus. Seeing the rest of the base crammed into the doorway, he rolled his optics. He didn't mind Optimus making a complete aft of himself in front of the others – Prime being given a decent punt to his ego was always something that put a grin on his face - but he was upset that Arcee had just been implicated in a very personal way by Prime's blunder. He scowled and jabbed a finger at the group of mechs, indicating to Optimus that he had better look behind him.

Deflating from his hysterical state, Optimus wondered what Ratchet was staring at. He turned halfway around. His optics widened and paled. Oh _slag._..

"Optimus... Sir... why are you in your protoform?" Bumblebee asked softly in a confused voice.

"... because it's easier for him to hump a femme when his armor isn't in the way?" Sunstreaker offered haughtily with a smirk on his handsome faceplates. Sideswipe silently offered his hand to his Twin. Sunny shook it.

While everyone watched, Optimus covered his face with his hands, groaned, and silently commanded his body armor to slid back into place. All of it. The only thing that saved him from punching himself in the head was the fact that he had replaced his groin armor after he had spark-shared with Arcee. At least that part of his dignity had been preserved. Now he wished he could go back in time and stop himself from blurting out the words 'She was ready for me', 'interfacing', and 'sparkmerge' while the others were in the room.

Ironhide grimaced. He grabbed Sunstreaker by the back of his neck armor, did exactly the same to Sideswipe – who protested, "I didn't say anything!", and got a gruff, "No, but you were about to," from Ironhide – and hauled the protesting Twins back down the hallway by strength alone.

Standing behind the whole mess (he'd wandered down from his adjacent lab to see what all the commotion was about), Wheeljack caught Ratchet's glare, sighed, and placed his hands on Bumblebee's shoulders, guiding him to turn around and head after Ironhide. "Come on Bee, lets have a little talk, okay?" The Inventor pulled the medbay door shut and left the trio in the medbay alone.

Optimus hadn't moved. He stood stricken like a frozen tower. Appalled by his gaffe. He wanted to offline himself and present Arcee with his stupid CPU yanked from his head and wrapped in a pretty pink ribbon for her to crush.

Ratchet shook his head. He took Arcee's numb hand in his own, placed his favourite wrench in her open palm, closed her fingers around it, then pointed a finger at where Optimus was standing motionless and mortified. "Throw it, Arcee. Hard."

Arcee vigorously shook her head, "No Ratchet." She carefully put down the much-feared projectile, patted it fondly, and began to clamber off the high medbench. "I think a much better idea is to... TEAR OFF HIS CROTCHPLATES AND RIP OFF HIS INTERFACE FOR BEING AN AIRHEAD!"

Optimus turned aft and started running. Arcee was a sharpshooter. The more miles he put between him and her, the better. He ran down the corridor in such a noisy scramble that he interrupted Wheeljack who was explaining a few things delicately to the yellow Camaro.

"Now see Bumblebee, when you anger a femme, running is your best defence. Just like Optimus!" The inventor patted Bee on the shoulder, the young scout staring in shock at his Commander running away. "Prime is our best military strategist, so if he's running away from an angry femme, you can see that there is no other option with annoyed females, yes? Just run, youngling, just run."

In his medbay, Ratchet calmly pulled a stool over to the bench, lowered himself into it, and propped his elbow on the table with his chin in his hand. They'd be back. He could wait. He hummed thoughtfully to himself, then opened the drawer under the bench with his free hand, removed a tube of medical glue, and dropped it on the bench next to him. Just in case...


	17. Chapter 17

**Waiting**

Authors Note: Thanks once again (eternal thanks, believe me!) for the reviews you kind peoples have been leaving. Thanks to: _**reaper mendez **_(don't die of humor yet, there's more coming!)_**, buddhabread **_(no worries about the smut, I'm not in the mood for it sometimes too)_**, The Starscream (**_but, someoneneeds to wake up the house!)_**, Elita One **_(yup, base knows, lookout Op and Cee!)_**, Sirastar **_(Bee is learning from the best, from Prime)_**, Kaekokat **_(HUGGLES –loves you 2, thanx for support)_**, Wolf Prime **_(Prime is indeed runnin' with those smexy legs)_**, BoredTech **_(Better than facing? O.O Oh noes! LOL)_**, Amylee Prime **_(Optimus is supercute)_**, flamingmarsh **_(more funnies is coming my dear)_**, Saberfrost **_(it's always Prime's fault! LOL)_**, steelcrash **_(I working hard, I is -HUGGLES)_**, Linda Saphira Witwicky **_(Nice is good! Better than yuck, eh?)_**, Eowynn77 **_(Darling! Fuzzy, glowing, fragging? Metal loincloth! ROFLS!)_**, Lioness Of the fire **_(Funny is good, means I'm doing well, I hope. Heh)_**, Borath **_(Loves you! Hey, I've got a brand! Where's my PA?)_**, Fantasyfan4ever **_(Made you blush! Ha! Enjoy your break, hun)_**, magnusrae **_(Cliffie is my second name! I rushed this chappie out for you, enjoy!)_**, Mewtwo-TheLoneShadow **_(Thanx for amaxing reviewing, you rock too)_**, Pyrofrickenmaniac **_(HUN! No, no depression, only happy stuff, stay happy! LOL)_**, Dragonball-Gal **_(Chocolate is good too – send some! Wants!). I haven't sent out responses yet, I'll do that in the next few days. Weekend is coming, yayness! ::waves arms:: :-D

**Chapter 17**

Arcee ignored the ramblings and curious glances from the other Autobots. There was only one Autobot she wanted to talk to and that Autobot had fled down the corridor as if Unicron was on his heels. She smiled to herself. With Prime's emotions stirred up like someone had put batteries and a loudspeaker in his chest, she knew exactly where he was, and the spark in his chest was like a glowing beacon calling her name like a whisper from heaven...

...as was the bulk of his over-sized mech noseplates peeking out at her from around the next corner. The smexy fragger hadn't gone too far. It appeared that their big fearless leader enjoyed playing chasings. She thought that he must've been a riot as a cheeky sparkling.

"Are you done yet?" Arcee asked, standing still on her spread legs and crossing her arms up high over her chest expectantly.

The noseplates poked out further, topped by a pair of blue optics staring shrewdly at her. The optics flickered, then the rest of Optimus' big body appeared with a few cautious footsteps. He stood nervously only a few arm lengths away. Looking at him in the middle of the hallway all dolled up in his flame decorated heavy armor once again made her spark thump faster. In his protoform or wearing his trans-scanned Cybertronian armor, Optimus Prime was capable of making cyber-angels weep at his holier-than-thou masculinity. It was hard to understand how something male could be so incredibly beautiful. Much easier to stare and drool and not think. And ask for humping.

"Uh... I apologise?"

Arcee tapped her fingers noisily on her opposite arm. "For? Explain further."

Optimus Prime's head cocked itself as he thought, his antennae flashing under the corridor lights. "For rashly blurting out the nature of our intimate relations to the rest of the base in person instead of writing it up in a newsletter and distributing it quietly under everyone's door like I should have done."

Arcee blinked. She hadn't known he could have such a sense of humor. Her hand rubbed at her forehead tiredly. "Silly fragger."

Prime puffed his chest out proudly, "Not as silly as a femme who goes running through corridors without her armor on, trying to catch a mech who is twice her height and fifty times her strength and liable to turn her into a pretzel with no trouble at all."

"Oh yes, now that's a thought," Arcee held up her finger, "I should have enlisted Ironhide to hunt you down and drag you back to my quarters by your ankles." She tapped her finger on her chin thoughtfully, "He knows exactly how I like my mechs tied to my berth, too."

"Mmm," Optimus said nervously, looking away from her, not wanting to go down that particular path. If she talked about the mechs she had been with in the past, he was going to get irrationally jealous. "So, are you going to shoot me?"

Arcee shrugged, "I haven't decided yet. You are very talented on the berth. If I shoot you, Ratchet will have to put you back together again and since he just sent me my medical profile with an important little note at the bottom – a _very_ important note - I think he has other things on his CPU at the moment which don't involve putting your arms and legs back on." She waited for Optimus to unravel the clue she had just handed to him. His CPU was big enough and fast enough to work it out. She hoped.

Prime's optic ridges furrowed. "Why would he send you your medical..." then his jaw fell. His whole face froze. His optics went white.

Arcee smiled coyly at him. Waiting.

Optimus still didn't move. His left optic flickered like it was glitched. His hands by his hips twitched. If a piece of his armor had fallen off in shock she wouldn't have been surprised.

Arcee rolled her optics in their casings, still waiting. Just as she was about to say out loud what her surprise was, Optimus fell backwards onto his aft with an enormous crash. Straight onto his solid royal rear. He sat on the floor with his long legs in front of him and his arms by his sides. His jaw open. His expression blank. Looking stupid. He sat there like a puppet that someone had cut the strings for.

"Optimus?" Arcee rushed over to him, kneeling down by his side. "Are you alright?" She patted his cheek experimentally, trying to get a reaction.

Slowly, Optimus turned his head to stare at her. "You... y-you..."

"Me?" She smiled at him. A big smile.

"We... I..."

"Yes?"

"Sss... Spa... Uh..."

"Oh come on Optimus, just say it." She put her hand under his jaw, holding his face tenderly. "Sparkling. We have a sparkling." Then she put both of her hands on his cheekplates and held him still so she could lean in and brush his mouthplates with her own. "You gave me a little one, Optimus." She kissed his numb mouthplates again, whispering intimately against his mouth as she did so, "Thank you."

For a while, the most powerful mech ever to walk the surface of Cybertron just sat there. Staring at her in shock. Arcee put her arms around his neck and hugged him. When she felt strong arms grasp her body and pull her into his lap, she laughed softly and looked up at him. He was smiling. He still had an expression that made him look like most of his CPU had fallen out the back of his head, but he was smiling. His optics moved from gazing at her in amazement to travel downwards onto her chest. Knowing what he was looking at, she grinned.

"Yes, in here," she tapped her hand on her chest above where the sparkling orb was housed in her reproductive chamber underneath her own spark.

Optimus lifted his large hand. His fingers were trembling. Arcee moved her hand out of the way and let him make contact with her chest plating while she watched. His hand was so big it made her chest look toy sized. His colorful flaming armor was bright against her plain protoform. He let his touch move lightly over her metal skin, then his gaze came back up to hers. Composing himself with a little shake, the Supreme Autobot Commander looked down at her and said in a hushed version of his normal confident baritone, "Our sparkling."

"Our sparkling, my sparkling," she gripped his hand tightly, "your sparkling." A sneaky grin lit up her face. "How does it feel to be a sire, Optimus?"

She watched several emotions pass over his face before he produced another silly smile and clicked his optic sweepers at her.

"Amazing," he finally rumbled softly.

_::Has he gone into stasis lock on the floor yet?::_

Arcee smothered a giggle, opening her internal comlink, _::No Ratchet, but he is on his aft in the corridor and acting like a sparkling learning to speak.::_

The CMO twittered at his end, _::Good practise for teaching the new little one, Arcee. Congratulations, by the way. I'll get the corridor security footage from Ironhide later. Will be good to laugh at over high-grade when we throw Prime his 'Sire' party.::_

The femme cut the comlink when Optimus threaded his hand gently around the back of her neck and softly pulled her closer into his body. Arcee relaxed into his touch and leant on his chest armor, dimming her optics. Happy. Contented. After all that had happened she realised that in the end, no one but him could ever have done this with her. It wouldn't have seemed right. Optimus was the one and always had been. Now they had to learn how to be together as creators. Learn to be the best they could at caring for and bringing up a new life. They wouldn't have to learn to love it – him or her - that was automatic. But in other things... they'd have to learn to laugh at themselves being clumsy and clueless – especially if the little one came out with a CPU anything like his! It would be smart, analytical, and capable of the worst mischief yet seen in any machine by humans on Earth.

It took a while for Optimus to think about constructing proper sentences again. Being told you were going to be a progenitor for the first time tended to knock a bots CPU out of commission for a while.

"We should see Ratchet again," he said slowly, focusing on his words and structuring his message in advance.

Arcee didn't want to move, but she guessed that snuggling up to Prime in the middle of the corridor wasn't the best place to be. Yes, Optimus was great for a snuggle anywhere, anytime, but there were nicer places to do it than on the floor. His great big padded recharge berth came to mind. She put her hand on his midsection plating and rubbed him playfully. "Yeah. I got another comlink message straight after the one that told me I was carrying, and it sounded something like, 'get your aft back to medbay before I bring in Bumblebee and draw him explicit diagrams of how you and the big lughead made your bundle of joy'."

Optimus Prime's optic ridges went up sharply, "Bundle of joy?"

"It's a human expression. Go and search the world wide web on what humans do with their babies."

"Later," Prime made a face, organics were lovable but messy, "I do so wish to avoid there being rude illustrations of us being handed out to Bumblebee like health pamphlets, so we had better trek back to the medbay where Doctor Doom is waiting."

"Oh. Yes." Arcee angled her head back to look up at him, "Does Ratchet draw well?"

Prime smirked, reaching out with his hand to brush his finger over the end of her petite noseplates, "Very. Complete with anatomically correct measurements. I do not wish for Bee's innocent spark to know what the size of my interface is, because then his vocaliser will be in a worse state than when Megatron nearly destroyed it."

"Under all that moaning and innuendo, you really do enjoy having the biggest male interface around, don't you?" Arcee accused him playfully.

Except for a grin on his faceplates that made him look like a sparkling doing his first prank, the Autobot Commander didn't answer that one. The huge mech got to his feet with Arcee held in his arms like a precious gift. The two of them retraced their steps to get back to the medbay. Along the way they could hear the shuffling feet and low voices of the other mechs as they passed the various base rooms. Optimus realised that very shortly, he and Arcee would have some explaining to do and that was going to be a much more painful prospect than the thought of Arcee shooting him in the crotch had been.

They found Ratchet sitting at his bench in the medbay surgical area, tapping his fingers impatiently on the table in front of him. "About time you two came back." He bent over to get a close up look at the state of Prime's crotch. "Still have your groin armor on? Everything looks intact down there, I see."

Arcee looked up at her lover as he carefully put her down on the bench, "Can we change his name from Doctor Doom to Doctor Rude?"

Optimus straightened himself up and crossed his arms over his wide chest in front of his split windscreen, giving Ratchet a mild glare, "I believe changing it to 'Doctor Doom-With-A-Rude-Glitch' would cover every eventuality; past, present and future."

"Shut it," Ratchet clanged him over the head with his wrench, "Right then, let's get down to proper business, shall we?" He glanced at Arcee and pointed to Optimus, "Did you tell this giant aft that despite his inept fumbling and thick processor, he somehow managed to get you carrying a sparkling orb?"

"I did." Arcee looked up at her Leader from her position on her back, smiling at him. "He knows." Prime smiled broadly back at her.

Ratchet surmised that the big stupid grin on Optimus Prime's face confirmed that he knew. "Very good. And did you make a recording of what he did to you on his berth so that the next time you ask him to give you a sparkling, he has a reference to remind him how he did it? He's getting old, you know."

Optimus hissed and stepped forward to get physical, but Arcee made a stop sign at him with her hand and then gestured frantically at the big metal saw on the next bench over, "Gimme that, I want to do it!"

"Sorry! Sorry." Ratchet smiled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Can't help myself. You know I can't. Opportunities like this don't come my way often."

Prime covered his faceplates with one hand and muttered several idle threats along with a prayer to Primus about a certain medic being shown what it was like to be pounded in the aft by someone the size of Unicron. Arcee kept straining to reach the dangerous equipment on the other bench.

The CMO decided that now would be a good time to distract them both with an image of what the orb looked like in Arcee's midsection. There was nothing like amazing sparkling pictures to make any couple go all gooey and cooey. At a signal from his processor, the medbay lights dimmed and from a projector embedded in his upper right chest, Ratchet displayed a 3D real-time image of what the inside of Arcee looked like. The image made Prime's faceplates drop in awe. Arcee pressed her hands to her mouth, her optics wide.

"Yes, there it is. Real, healthy, and all systems go." He made the image rotate. It showed Arcee's spark, and underneath it – attached via a complex bundle of cables and energon relays – was her reproduction chamber, inside of which was a small glowing ball of pure energy, encased in an impossibly thin translucent membrane of interwoven metal. The soon-to-be-sparkling. When Arcee reached up to touch the image, Ratchet graciously lowered it to hover right over her chest where she could view it without straining herself.

Prime was speechless. Again. His whole being and sense of purpose was wrapped up in the notion that any form of life – no matter what planet, structure or pathway it took – was a miracle to be cherished, protected and loved. And here he was being shown a life that had come directly from his own systems. A new life that had been produced from his merging with Arcee. A life that was half his responsibility. Arcee had told him she was carrying, but for him to see an image of it floating in front of his optics was an even bigger shock to his CPU and spark.

Arcee flinched in surprise when Optimus abruptly dropped down onto one armored knee, clasped her nearest hand between both of his own, and touched his forehead; followed by his mouthplates; to the back of her hand. Ratchet took a quiet step backwards, giving them space. Now was not the time for snark.

"Thank you." The huge red and blue mech kissed her hand again. His head lifted slowly and his blue optics gazed into hers. Arcee gasped and arched off the bench at the strong rush of love, adoration, thankfulness and and joy flooding her sparklink from his end.

Ratchet's optics narrowed in concern. A quick scan of Arcee told him everything was fine and he relaxed. Optimus was messing with his end of the temporary link he had with her to show her how he felt. Ratchet rolled his optics. With a link that strong he wouldn't be surprised if he asked her to sparkbond permanently with him, then there would be three celebratory parties to deal with – one for Prime becoming a sire and Arcee a mother-unit, one when the sparkling was finally here in its sparkling protoform, and another to mark the bonding of the two lovebots (as long as Arcee agreed, and what femme wouldn't?). Ratchet started measuring up in his head how much high-grade was going to be drunk... and that he'd better use his free time to start mixing morning-after over-energising remedies. For himself. Any left over he could sell to the other moaning mechs for credits to use at Wal-Mart, with Ironhide dragged along to carry his loot.

Arcee – her protoform glowing blue with the pulses from Prime's sparklink connection – gestured at him to come closer. When Optimus did so, she covered his faceplates in tiny kisses, gave him one final _huge_ kiss, then simply hugged his entire head with her arms.

Ratchet gave them some peace to themselves for a while longer, then snorted when he decided their time was up. "Hey now, come on, she can't carry more than one sparkling orb at a time, so keep your hands to yourself, Big Bot."

The two held hands and exchanged jittery smiles with each other while Ratchet finished up with his medical necessities. Then the medbot crossed his arms over his chest bumper-bar and gave Arcee a stern look.

"I'd like to keep the orb within your chest for one Earth week, Arcee." He held up his finger for silence when the femme and mech started looking worried and opened their mouthplates at once to ask why. "Just as a precaution. That is the maximum recommended amount of time to ensure the orb will be at its strongest for the transfer into its protoform shell. I'm doing everything for the best here, that's all." He locked his optics onto Arcee's. "No vigorous activity, no leaving the base, I want you relaxing and taking it slow and coming to see me for a scan and check-up _every morning_," Ratchet punctuated his words with a stabbing finger, "these are my strict orders for what you will be doing until the orb is removed. Got it?"

Arcee nodded affirmatively, "Yes Ratchet."

The medic grinned, "Oh, I do so love hearing those two words together." He began shooing them out of his bay, "Off you go. It's up to you to work out how to explain all of this to the others."

Optimus helped Arcee off the bench. He put his hand gently on Ratchet's shoulder as he went past, squeezing it and nodding thankfully at his CMO. Optimus felt like giving the medical mech a big hug, but he knew that would get him a knee in the groin or a punch to his head. Ratchet wasn't a big one for extravagant emotion in his domain, especially from another mech – unless the emotion involved him with his own femme of choice, locked medbay doors and the intergalactic version of the Earth Kama Sutra.

"Prime."

The Commander halted and looked over his shoulder at Ratchet calling his name. "Yes?"

"You can interface together all you want, just don't open her chestplates. Got it?" Ratchet smirked. "And get some armor on Arcee, your protoform isn't good enough to protect you and the sparkling!"

Arcee made a choking sound, and pulled her bristling mech hurriedly out of the medbay. Ratchet heard her talking all the way down the hallway, "No guns, no throwing things, no calling Ironhide for his most offensive weapon, let's just go, alright sweetie?"

The CMO settled down onto a stool with his legs splayed out for a few moments of quiet contemplation, because Primus knew when he'd next get a moment of peace. He smiled and shook his head. A sparkling for the Autobots. A Prime-line little one. Wasn't that just wonderful?


	18. Chapter 18

**Waiting**

**Authors Note: **Oh man, I haven't been keeping up with replying to my reviews. Big, heart-felt, thanks and high-fives to the following reviewers of the previous chapter because you have all said the most amazing and kind comments and I can't say thank you enough! (These guys are fantastic writers too, so anyone who wants recommendations for good fics to read, see these guys ) – **_flamingmarsh_**, **_Elita One_**, **_Wolf Prime_**, **_dragonlover91_**, **_optimus prime 007_**, **_Linda Saphira Witwicky_**, **_Fantasyfan4ever_**, **_T.A. And T.A_**., **_Lioness Of the fire, magnusrae, steelcrash, AMYLEE PRIME, Sirastar, fantasyaddict101, reaper mendez, Saberfrost, Dragonball-Gal, femme4prime, Optimus Prime '84, ElitasLove _**(if you want spectacular Optimus and Elita lovin', see her fics!), **_Mr ReviewerGuy, and Risuna-Phenix. _**

**Authors Note Part 2: **Daniel sweetie, I will get to your fics this weekend somehow! Massive apologies! I'm snowed under here. :-)

**Chapter 18**

_**Outdoor recreation area, Autobot Base, Earth, early evening...**_

"So."

Ratchet arched a thick optic ridge at the blunt proposition that had disturbed his gentle peace. "So?"

"First time. _First time,_" Ironhide stated while he shook his head with a mild scowl, not taking his optics off the brilliant sunset bathing the desert in orange and pink tones. He imitated Optimus Prime's regal baritone, "You desire to have a sparkling, femme? Never fear, Prime is here! How many do you want and which gender are you hoping for? Lie back and spread'em, female, as you admire my prowess with my magnificent endowment! BAM! There ya go little lady, job done!"

Ratchet rolled his optics and snorted, "You are so brutally simple. He is a Prime, you know, they're not meant to miss or fail at _anything, _and - to borrow an Earth phrase – knocking up femmes included."

"Humph," the Weapons Specialist didn't remove the sour expression from his faceplates. He drummed his forefingers on his propped up thigh, "Well, now that she has one, can the rest of us be spared the sight of Optimus striding around the base like a triumphant chicken?"

"...I think you mean 'peacock', Ironhide," Ratchet retorted dryly, stretching his strong and thick legs out in front of him and linking his hands together over his flat abdominal armor.

The black mech put on a broody expression and pouted. "Whatever. Any aft-headed bird organic will do. You know what I meant."

Silence reigned for the next few minutes. Heavy mech armor creaked as the two bots sat in the covered outdoor area attached to the base.

Ironhide started up again, making Ratchet huff and shake his head, "Hey, from the potency of the ozone that I detected outside his quarters afterwards, he must have taken her more than once. Three or four times at least!" Ironhide held up a blunt finger and stabbed the air with it as he made his point, "There is NO WAY that he managed to get her carrying a sparkling after one interface and spark merge." Another finger stab. "NO WAY. We both know that Prime hasn't been with a femme for so long that it's amazing that his equipment hasn't rusted through and fallen off into the deep depths of his leg armor!"

Before Ratchet could drag in a sampling of air and emit a snarky retort to that one, a heavy presence joined the conversation.

"My equipment is my business, Ironhide, and I did not need to go groping for it in the 'depths' of my ankle armor. Nor has it ever 'fallen off', unlike yours." Optimus Prime calmly turned one of the bigger reclining chairs around so that it was next to where his CMO was sitting, and gracefully but tiredly lowered his aft into it. Ratchet and Ironhide braced themselves as they always did whenever Optimus sat down – flattened and destroyed chairs were a common Prime legacy. The chair survived. Just.

"His doesn't fall off, he just pulls at it so hard that it detaches easily," Ratchet grinned. The medic displayed his lightning reflexes as he ducked his torso to the side to avoid having his head swiped off by Ironhide's angry hand.

"And we all know you became a medic just to learn how to repair yours from self-overuse, Hatchet," Ironhide growled.

While sticking up a rude finger to Ironhide to tell him where to shove it, Ratchet glanced over at a relaxing Optimus Prime. "How is she? Recharging peacefully?"

The big leader mech nodded, "Yes. She was too tired to talk much. She said what she wanted to say and then drifted off. I made sure she was comfortable and safe, then left to give her some quiet time to herself."

After the drama of the medbay, Optimus Prime had stayed on his berth in his quarters while reclining with his back to the wall as Arcee had nestled herself into his lap with her head on his lower chest. They had talked easily about random things while they idly touched or caressed each others armor. Neither of them had felt like starting a heavy discussion about the sparkling or mentioning their recent intimate joining. When the tiring femme had entered into a deep recharge and relaxed her tight hold on his body, he had gently arranged her curled up comfortably on his berth and left a message on her comlink to tell her where he was (not far) and inserted a simple alarm code into her comlink to inform him when she was awake. For a while he had stood silently at the end of his recharge berth and watched her recharging. She had one of her hands pressed into her chest over where the sparkling orb was located, the orb that they had produced together. Optimus didn't believe he'd ever get over the joy and surprise of learning that this wonderful femme was carrying his sparkling and that he had succeeded in doing his task for her with only one attempt.

That single successful attempt made Prime feel like puffing his chest out in male pride and pointing at himself like the Earth males did, saying, 'Who's the mech?' It was so much harder for Cybertronian females to conceive than it was for organics. Much harder. But he'd done it.

Seduced, mounted, overloaded and delivered. No problem.

He'd do it all again in an nanosecond, too. He hadn't had a chance to discuss his performance with Arcee yet, but he couldn't think she would give him anything other than ten out of ten.

Sitting back comfortably in his chosen chair, Optimus Prime could feel the intensity of Ironhide's glare on him. Keeping his blue gaze on the sunset, he gave in. "What is it, Ironhide?"

"Just wondering what the expression on your face will be when you first have to clean out the little'uns waste tank," the black mech said as he indulgently crossed one ankle over the other in front of him, his thick feet sticking up prominently. "That isn't a task a mech of your exalted status has to handle very often. You didn't do it for Bumblebee. That was MY job."

Optimus held up his hand in front of himself and stared expectantly at his Weapons Specialist, "Would you like me to practise on yours?" He rotated his hand appraisingly, "I'm sure I can fit my hand up there."

Ratchet leant over with his hands on his knees, barking with laughter. "Good one!"

Ironhide grimaced at his preening Commander, "You really are disgusting sometimes, you know that?"

"Not disgusting, just very literal and practical," Prime corrected him airily, smirking.

"Yeah. Right. And you had better find a practical way of explaining all of this to Bumblebee," Ironhide shot back, "because his innocent CPU isn't going to understand very well what you and Arcee did. How are you going to explain that you let Arcee hire you for mating duties? He knows that a relationship comes before you make a sparkling, and you two skipped all that!"

Optimus Prime's royal blue optics dimmed. His head lowered as he stared at the ground by his feet. "I know. That is not a conversation I am looking forward to."

"At least he wasn't around to hear that scream you made when you overloaded," Ratchet added, "I sent him on a supply run when you disappeared with Arcee to your quarters."

Optimus lifted his head and glanced from one officer to the other. Ironhide – his dependable and experienced friend – was sitting back in his chair, his big and wide black mass looking as menacing as he always did. His fearsome cannons were not spinning and whistling for once. Ratchet was leaning forwards with his hands linked together between his knees, the combination of his bulky yellow-green armor and the depth of his 'I-respect-you-but-you-are-an-idiot' expression giving Prime the impression that the CMO was one heck of a mech to be friends with. Macho, but with a superior intelligence that put him in a much higher league than most mechs.

"Yes, I know," Prime sighed, shaking his head. "I am still working on how much I will reveal."

"Be careful what you do reveal, afthead. I don't wish to be rebooting Bee's systems because the image of you lying naked between Arcee's open legs has crashed him," Ratchet said sternly.

"Yes, Ratchet," Optimus said in a monotone with a slight shake of his head. There was no way he was going to say anything like that to his little Bee!

He hoped.

_**Two days later, early morning, in the washracks...**_

Ratchet's words were prominent in Optimus Prime's CPU. Prime had spent the night on his berth with Arcee. It was uneventful compared to when he had sired the sparkling orb that was currently residing within Arcee's chest, that was a moment that would live dominantly forever in his memory tracks. As it should. At the moment, Arcee had a deep need for firmly pressing herself into his embrace as often as she could, no matter if he was busy, distracted, upright or flat on his back. She clung to his body, held on, stayed close and generally wanted to be near him. Whether it was from her desire to be comforted and protected by him or just the primal need of a carrying femme to be with the sire of her sparkling, he didn't know. Not that he minded. His arms and physique were always open to her – having an adoring and beautiful femme wanting him to hold her was never a problem.

Except for the looks Bumblebee had been giving him.

Curious and confused looks. Expressions on his faceplates that innocently said, 'What is going on and why haven't you told me yet?'. Optimus was dreading having the conversation of what he was doing with Arcee. Bumblebee was such a sweet and innocent mech that looked up to him with an uninhibited and love-filled gaze. In his opinion, Optimus could do no wrong. So what were the words, 'I mated with Arcee because she asked me to and she wanted a sparkling', going to do to Bee's CPU? Would he even be able to think of his regal and upstanding Commander as simply a sire whose capabilities were desired by females?

Putting such thoughts aside, Optimus put both of his hands splayed out on the concrete wall in front of him and let his head hang down between his braced arms. Warm solvent from the sprayers sent liquid over and into every part of his body. Except for one place. After listening for a moment to check that no one was coming down the hallway to enter the racks, he pushed himself up off the wall and stood with his legs apart and his thighs angled outwards. He unhitched his groin covering, set it aside on a shelf, and mentally gave the code command to extend out his dormant male interface from its snuggly housing between his legs. The thick appendage slid out with no trouble. Limp and soft. Gathering some solvent and cleanser in one hand, he lathered it all over his spike. Cleaning, rubbing, and generally inspecting the pliable tool that made him very much a male Cybertronian.

He'd just finished his 'personal care' and covered himself up again when light footsteps signalled the arrival of another bot. He smiled and rubbed cleanser up and down his chest. He knew who that was.

"Good morning, Sir."

Prime glanced sideways as the other mech halted next to him in a vacant shower stall. The enthusiastic young scout sometimes still used the proper title of 'Sir' for his Commander, but Bee often also used it as a signal that he wanted to discuss something important or proper. This time, Optimus could take a good guess that it was his own relationship with Arcee that was upsetting the Camaro. "Morning Bumblebee. Did you have a good recharge?"

"Oh yes," Bee said jovially, activating the wall sprayers in front of him. "I'm taking Sam and Mikaela to their family picnic today, so I thought I would, you know," he gestured down his front, "wash and wax. My paintjob is a bit dull in places."

Optimus nodded, "Ah. Good idea."

Silence lapsed between the two mechs as they washed themselves.

Optimus kept his gaze on the wall in front of him or down at his own body.

Bumblebee wasn't so studious. He kept looking over at his leader, thinking, with the subject of Prime's association with the lone Autobot femme at the forefront of his CPU. He could see why females went for him. Tall, strong, handsome, kind, caring – what femme wouldn't want such qualities in a mate? Watching Optimus diligently run his hands over his big powerful body as he cleaned it even made Bumblebee shiver, and he had no desire to be with another mech, much less the mech who had helped raise him! Males didn't attract him at all; or maybe it was just being on the receiving end of a loud interfacing session through a thin adjoining wall between Ratchet and Ironhide eons ago had put him off males for life. He'd made sure to never again have his personal quarters next to either of them. Those two were loud and obnoxious when it came to pleasure. Ironhide roared and made a lot of thumping and growling noises when he had an interfacing session, while Ratchet yelped, groaned and swore profusely.

Bumblebee's optics glittered with amusement when he realised that showering with Optimus Prime wasn't the frightening experience that it was when Ironhide decided to wash himself. Bee had no doubt that Optimus was probably very well-endowed, but Prime never openly uncovered himself when another bot was present in the washracks and Bee had never seen it. Unlike Ironhide who spent much of his time in the washrooms with his interface gleefully 'swinging-in-the-wind' and possessed no modesty about his assets that anyone had yet discovered, so Bee was very familiar with how big Ironhide's relaxed spike was. He regularly offered thanks to Primus that he'd never accidentally seen it in an erect state...

It had been Ironhide who had quickly and briefly shown him how to clean and care for himself 'down there' by demonstrating on his own uncovered spike in the washracks, and Bumblebee privately thought that if Optimus had been the one showing him using _his_ regal interface, he would have fallen over in stasis lock. Bee loved both Ironhide and Optimus equally as his mentors and caretakers, but there were some things that suited one and not the other. Talking about interfaces and sensuality was Ironhide's job. Prime stayed out of it.

"Bumblebee, may we talk privately?"

The Camaro jerked his attention back to the present. Optimus had finished cleaning himself and had switched off the shower jets on his side while standing at an angle with his hand resting on the wall above his head. His wetly slick physique shone brilliantly under the overhead lights. A God could not have appeared more stunning to his adoring optics.

"Talk?" Bee blinked his optics and hurriedly shut down his shower stall too. "About... Arcee?" he enquired gently, airing his concern at what was on Prime's CPU at the moment. As it was on his.

Optimus lifted his blue gaze to briefly stare at the ceiling, then lowered it to look at his youngling. "Yes. I think it is time that you understood what is happening between her and I." The fingers of his hand on the wall flexed to scratch at the tiles. "I don't like there to be secrets between us and I hope that after I explain things you can in some way approve of what I have done," he smiled wryly, "and am currently doing."

Bumblebee cocked his head at the senior mech. His optic ridges moved up and down. "Sir, you don't have to explain yourself to me-" he was cut off when Optimus reached out with both hands and rested them on Bee's shoulders.

"I want to. You deserve to know." Optimus lifted one hand and playfully flicked the tip of his forefinger over Bumblebee's cheekridge like he used to do when Bee was a happy sparkling. "And no more expressions of 'sir', please. Would you do me the honor of listening to what I have to say?"

"Always," Bee bounced his head up and down.

Optimus smiled, "Good. Could we use your quarters? Arcee is currently recharging in mine and I don't wish to use my office for something so personal. This isn't military business."

"Er... yes?" Bee cursed the fact that he hadn't tidied his quarters for the past week. They were a bit of a shambles. It didn't help that he'd accidentally trodden on his diligent little cleaning droid while it was vacuuming a few days ago and Wheeljack had yet to repair it for him.

Bumblebee was grateful when Optimus had quietly nodded his assent to waiting in the hallway for a moment while he chucked handfuls of his belongings into his berth room and shut the door on the mess so that the main room was clear of debris. Prime had taken a seat once Bee had let him in and got down to business.

Prime composed himself. "Well. Er..."

Bee smiled at him encouragingly.

Optimus tried again. "Arcee is... uh... she is..."

Bumblebee waited patiently.

Prime heaved a sigh and frowned down at the table between him and the Camaro. He was never great at these things. Out with it. "Arcee is carrying my sparkling orb. She desired to have a sparkling, and as she is seemingly the last Autobot femme, we reached a mutual agreement that she would do so." Optimus didn't truly know what to expect as a reaction from his youngling to that, but he was grateful when Bumblebee didn't shriek and fall over backwards out of his chair. "She asked me to sire it for her – which I have – and Ratchet will transfer it to a protoform body in two days time." He kept watching Bumblebee for any sign of hysterical screaming and going offline. So far so good. "We are not a bonded couple but she accepts me as her partner, and I; of course; accept her willingly in kind." He didn't mention that he loved her. Neither he or her had offered that sentiment to each other as yet.

Across the table, Bumblebee was staring at him with wide optics and a shocked expression. He looked as if Sam had just told him that he was actually a girl and he wanted to go shopping for skirts.

"Bumblebee?" Optimus stared at him cautiously. "Are you okay-"

The young yellow mech shrieked and dived across the table at him, throwing himself totally at his commander and much-loved caretaker. He hit Optimus in the chest so hard that the huge mech had to fight to stay upright in his seat.

"YESYESYES! Yes! Oh yes!" Bee trilled and warbled in an excited mixture of words and sparkling clicks. He had his arms around Prime's neck and was sitting in his lap while pressing his face into his chest.

Prime relaxed. He grinned and patted Bee on the head while hugging the mech back as hard as he was being hugged himself. "You... don't mind? Truly?"

"NO!"

"Oh good," Optimus vented air with a sigh, drooping his shoulders.

"A sparkling!" Bee lifted his head, his optics staring up at Optimus Prime's face like excited twin blue stars, "A new sparkling! Your sparkling! A little Prime sparkling!"

"Little? Hmmm... we'll see," Optimus smiled, himself wondering how big this new life would eventually be when he or she reached the final body stage. As big as himself or bigger? The progeny of a Prime in Cybertron's past had nearly always been extremely large. As the current and only Prime, he was one of the smaller versions. Cybertronians in general had been reducing in size for several millennia now, but the previous generations had been towering mechanisms and the Primes were taller again. He had seen a rare recovered datatrack of the original Primes – the first Primes – and he had judged them to be over twice his size. Very intimidating.

His attention was returned to the excited young mech on his lap when Bee leant back from his embrace and stared up at him cautiously, "Can I hold him? Is that," Bee blinked fearfully, "okay? Can I?"

Optimus laughed deeply, a rumbling sound that rattled his chrome smokestacks, "My little Bee, after Arcee and myself, I would love you to be the first to cradle our sparkling." He tilted his head to the side in mock seriousness, "And what is this 'him' reference? Do you know something I don't? The little one could be a mech or a femme, you know."

"Oh no," Bumblebee clambered off Prime's lap to stand and clap his hands together excitedly while he bounced on his feet, "He will be a mech like me. If he is a femme-"

The Autobot Commander smiled softly at the mixed up words that Bumblebee was using.

"-he'll get used to it, I think."

Later, entering his quarters to check on Arcee, Optimus Prime was still shaking his head in wonder and relief that Bumblebee had taken the news so well. He had been fearful that his youngling would be confused and upset at the notion of his caretaker participating in a sexual way with a female to produce a sparkling that he'd blow a circuit. Or even jealous. He should have known that Bumblebee was not like that and would take the news of a sparkling as exciting and wondrous.

"...What are you grinning about...?"

Optimus lifted his head to meet the groggy optics of the female lying upon his recharge berth. "I told Bumblebee about us and the sparkling. He is very excited."

"Huh." Arcee rubbed her hand over her noseplates and under her optics. "You expected him to freak out at the thought of you interfacing with a femme, right?"

_By Primus, yes,_ Optimus thought. "In a way. A sparkling also means that he is no longer the youngest. I detected no such thing from him. He is almost deliriously happy."

Arcee rolled herself onto her side and propped her head in her hand. The blue and purple tones of her body were utterly lucious to his gaze. She peered at him with darkening optics and gave him a sensual pout. "I know a way of making mature mechs deliriously happy too."

"What?" Prime stood befuddled. Then it hit him. His huge red and blue frame stiffened. "OH. But... Ratchet said-"

"-that we were free to interface as often as we liked. I haven't been able to recharge as fully as I wanted to today because my systems are – shall I say it crudely or delicately? - humming along at an increased intensity and it is hard to stay in recharge when my hips are humping this berth like it is you." She patted the berth space next to her. "Come here, Autobot Commander Optimus Prime. This femmebot needs to be serviced." Her fingers tapped the berth restlessly. "I have needs and it's your job to fix them. Right now. Chuck that groin covering over your shoulder and get to work, mech."

Barely half an Earth hour later, Optimus lay on his back with a very sated and recharging Arcee spread out face-down over his chestplates and thought that if Bumblebee had been witness to _that_ one, Ratchet would've been inventing new techniques of psychology to put the young scouts broken CPU back together.

**Authors Note: **Yes, alright, I'll produce a special chapter of Optimus humping Arcee in the above scene. I need a bloody holiday... :-)


	19. Chapter 19

**Waiting**

Authors note: Yes, I'm sort of back. Kind of. When I feel I can write, I'll write hard and post what comes out. For all the Americans out there, particularly the New York state guys, I'm hoping like hell no more deaths happen from Sandy/Frankenstorm and that you get all the help you need to get your lives back together again. What we're seeing on TV and the Internets is absolutely horrifying. To Optimus Prime 007, Plenoptic, CMO Hatchet, Borath, Bunnylass, Litahatchee, Steelcrash, hummergrey, T.L. Arens, Black Oracle, Phantom, and everyone else I love but can't remember, I don't know where you all live in America but I hope you're all ok!

**Chapter 19**

Welcome to Sparkling Practice 101!

Step one – place big stupid mech on floor on his dumb aft.

Step two – make over-excited mech sit back down and put his crotchplates back on because this is the 'afterwards' part, not the 'before' part.

Step three - hand big disappointed stupid mech a fake plastic sparkling.

Step four – Primus knows, but Arcee needs something for her CPU-ache and Optimus needs to get a clue.

"This isn't what I had been talking about, but if you wish to show the biggest and baddest mech in the galaxy how to hold a sparkling safely in his arms by making him rehearse it over and over, go right ahead, Arcee. He's going to drop the poor thing on his or her head sometime regardless. He's a klutz. And by the way, pray to Primus you've got a femme sparkling inside of you because carrying a little mech sired by a mech of Prime's size will give you the biggest body ache ever heard of in Cybertronian history and I can't synthesise painkillers fast enough to keep up."

When Ratchet had finally finished his long warble, Autobot Commander Optimus Prime looked up from his seated cross-legged position on the rec room floor to give his CMO the most evil look he could rustle up. A look which caused Ratchet to emit a 'pffft' of complete unconcern but which usually made Decepticons gladly rip off their own spikes and serve them up as offerings to the mighty Autobot Prime.

"Biggest I agree with, but the term 'baddest' belongs to someone with a Decepticon insignia, Ratchet," Optimus said smoothly. His glittering red and blue armor was perfectly polished as usual. It didn't matter whether he was attending a high council meeting on his home planet or learning the right way up to hold a sparkling (head up, aft down), he was always immaculate.

"Or me," Ironhide grunted, seated on a chair with his mud adorned legs splayed out in front of him and watching the shenanigans that Arcee was putting Prime through. And wasn't he enjoying it...

"Or him," Optimus agreed amicably with a faint smirk. After all, he – Optimus Prime – had the femme, and Ironide-The-Obnoxious-Femme-Conqueror, didn't. So there.

The diligent femme was adjusting his arms, checking how tightly he was holding the fake sparkling (a small jumbled together bundle of wires covered in heavy plastic with protruding arms and legs, exactly the same size as their sparkling was projected to be), telling him to lower his voice and not make sudden movements. All of that kind of stuff. It was a laugh to watch little feminine Arcee put the towering and masculine Optimus through his 'how-to-care-for-a-sparkling' paces. Arcee was a learner at this too but she at least had some broad idea of how to handle a sparkling. Poor Prime was just a dipstick.

Ratchet shook his head and flapped a dismissive hand at them. He had wanted Prime and Arcee to discuss the more intimate details of caring for a sparkling, such as who was getting up multiple times during the night when the little one was scared and couldn't recharge. How they would handle tantrums. Who would do the morning routine and the night-time power-down. Who would empty the little ones clogged waste tank... oh, how he wished that job upon Prime's aristocratic head. Not that he would say that out loud, of course. It was just a little whimsy that he wished Primus would see fit to grant.

Arcee finally stood back and rubbed at her cheekplate as she critically eyed off Prime's tenuous position. Her mega mech was never going to look like a natural when it came to cradling a sparkling in his over-engineered, hydraulic-bulging arms. Perhaps she could try a few more adjustments before she retreated to a corner to cover her head with her arms and rock her bruised intelligence into recharge. "Optimus, try relaxing your elbows down towards the ground instead of around the proximity of your head."

The seated mech perked up, eager for instruction. He knew he was far from being a natural at this. "Oh. Of course."

Prime ceased his terrified-wing-flapping-chicken pose and let his arms relax down by his waist. Arcee grimaced. Oh good, yeah that worked. Now he looked like he was cradling a bomb. Well, perhaps she should have thought of all this before she chose a warrior who had spent his life handing his enemies their afts because such traits didn't always translate well into being a great parental unit. On the other hand, creating the said sparkling had been an experience she would remember for the rest of her lifetime and every lifetime she was re-incarnated into after that. Mmmm. Majestic, enthusiastic Optimus. Smexy Prime with a big -

"Oh look, she's re-living her moments under Prime's ramming hips again. I'm outta here," Ironhide said with obvious disgust as he heaved his thick black mass out of his chair and made for the doorway with heavy stomping.

"I was not! There are times when I don't think about it, you know!" - Arcee.

"How the frag did he know that?! He _always_ knows! I can never tell unless I check for a heat surge around her spark with my scanners! And I'M the medic!" - Ratchet.

"What is wrong with my hips?!" - Optimus.

Ironhide smirked all the way down the hallway as the comments came floating after him. Making Arcee's private thoughts into rude words, check. Annoying Ratchet with the fact that he never knew the exact moment when a femme was thinking dirty thoughts, check. Picking on Prime's overworked under-sized male anatomy, check.

_**Prime and Arcee's quarters, a few days later, early in the morning...**_

"Hmmm..."

Arcee arched a feminine optic ridge and glanced sideways at the over-sized mech laid out beside her who had just made the 'hmmm' sound.

"Hmmm?", she queried back.

The large sky-blue masculine optics of Optimus Prime swivelled to look down at where Arcee was cuddled into his long outstretched arm, her face looking up at him expectantly.

It had become bewilderingly normal to have the femme lying next to him on his berth – no, wait, _their_ berth. Eons of solitude still made him hesitant to use the 'their' term. To think of everything as 'they', 'them' and 'theirs'. While the Autobot forces and the rest of the universe in general may have thought of him as the ultimate symbol of masculinity, he had never thought of himself that way. To him, he was still shocked and surprised that any femme wanted him. _Him_. The big klutz who was too tall, too broad, and too clueless at gender games to think he could ever succeed at nabbing a femme of his own. Whenever Arcee did things for him in terms of their current relationship (such as the sparkling lesson a few days ago – and yes, Ironhide had been feeling the sting of payback for the rest of the week from Ratchet, and in smaller ways from Prime too) he had constant feelings of being grateful and humbled. Maybe a few lessons from Ironhide on how to hold his head high and thump his chestplates to socially broadcast his success with a femme wouldn't go astray.

…yeah, and Arcee laughing her aft off because he came across as a stupid mammal who had hairy chestplates and walked on all-fours would probably be the result.

"Did I not tell you of my strange habit of making odd non-committal noises on occasion?" Prime spoke softly in jest to answer Arcee.

A small feminine hand slid down to cup his plated crotch. "Only when I'm causing you to make unexpected noises because I'm manipulating _this_ part of you." Her fingers wiggled his armor tantalisingly. "That particular 'hmmm' sounded more like 'who's aft should I kick today?', or, 'should I tell Bumblebee to stop putting Megatron's head on a pole and randomly frightening Ratchet with it?', you know?"

"Oh. Did I?" A long pause. He had a mental image of Ratchet in his medbay shrieking like a femme whenever Megatron's body-less head was shoved at him in surprise by a gleeful Bumblebee. "Er, and has Bumblebee actually ever done that...?"

Arcee groaned and slapped his heavy chest. "If he has you didn't hear about it from me, got it?"

He nodded vaguely, then smirked, "Hmmm."

"ARGH~!"

_**A few weeks later, in the carpark of the local shopping centre...**_

Arcee fidgeted on all four wheels. Her suspension squeaked with her apprehension as her Lotus sportscar form shifted with uneasiness. Something didn't feel right. She wouldn't admit to it even if Optimus had been standing beside her asking. Besides, bearing her sparkling had given her odd sensations from time-to-time. This was merely another one of them. She also called it odd because none of her diagnostic functions were abnormal. Everything read as normal range. Perfectly normal.

She concentrated on projecting serene calm over the sparklink she shared with Optimus. Her sparkling's sire didn't need to be bothered with her funny feelings right at this moment.

On her left, Ironhide had assumed his usual place of being mostly naked in human form (i.e. shirtless) while he sat on his own front hood and braced his feet up on his newly-added black rambar. Tight black jeans, slim fitting cowboy boots, large steel-rimmed aviator sunglasses and a big black hat completed his whole menacing look. However, instead of his normal rack of holographic shotguns in his rear tray to scare the local baggy pants teenagers with, he had opted to cover up his tray with a simple black synthetic cloth. What was under the cloth in his rear tray was something that he would only reveal under one of two special conditions; if Optimus himself was giving him a direct order or if they were attacked by Decepticons (or crazy humans, come to think of it). No one needed to freak out about what he was carrying. 'It' was inactive and hidden away. No problem.

All three of them – Ratchet, Ironhide, and herself – had come to the shopping centre on a quiet monday morning. Normally Optimus would have been accompanying them but an important day-long conference with the newly elected POTUS (President of the United States) had ruled him out. It had taken most of the previous day for Arcee to negotiate with the mechs to be 'allowed' to go to the shopping centre without Optimus accompanying them. Arcee had long ago resigned herself to the fact that carrying a sparkling in her chest meant that the three fully grown boofheads of the Autobot army (Optimus, Ratchet and Ironhide) were going to protect and accompany her whenever she left the base (Bumblebee didn't count as a big boofhead, he was still a boofhead youngling). But really, if she couldn't even go to the local shops without Optimus hovering over her, she was going to have the biggest screaming throwdown fit she could produce. And she told them so. She hadn't mentioned that she didn't really know how to throw such a fit because she'd never done that in her life and it was merely something she'd seen the human females do when they wanted to get their own way.

Hence, she was now in the carpark with Ironhide. Ratchet's yellow-green Hummer form was parked on her right. He was physically there, but his holoform human self was inside the hardware store. She was boxed in by Autobot mechs. This wasn't the most entertaining thing she could think of to do with her day, but it sure beat doing inane laps of the inside of the base. Or faffing around on the internet. Or playing Halo. Again. Maybe she should take up gardening? Oh wait, nope, Optimus liked to trample innocent plants and say 'Oops'.

Ratchet eventually returned with his goodie bags (having a credit card with no limit was useful to one of them at least) and began a verbal sparring match with Ironhide on the topic of silly-looking black cowboy boots worn by macho-wannabes. When Arcee threatened to beat them both to death with said cowboy boots if they didn't zip it, the CMO chucked his bags in his back seat and everyone started their engines to go back to base.

Everyone except Arcee, that is.

Ironhide had already pulled out of his space before a sudden exclamation of 'STOP!' from Ratchet halted him.

The sudden silence enhanced the vigorous clicking of Arcee's engine refusing to turn over.

"Uh oh..." Arcee muttered.

Click, click, click.

Nothing.

"Are you doing this for a joke?" Ironhide demanded, reversing himself back into his parking space with a squeal of thick black tires.

"Shut it, 'Hide," Ratchet said sharply. "Arcee? Can you tell me what the problem is?"

"Problem? There's a problem?" Arcee muttered sarcastically, still trying to crank her engine into life. Stupid, low-tech, archaic, moronic, earth technology!

Ironhide briefly wondered if offering to jump start her would be wise. Telling Arcee he'd jump her would mean he'd end up with the Autobot Commander's foot in his aft. Or his head ripped off. Femmes were notoriously sensitive about these things.

The door of Ratchet's Hummer popped open and the CMO jumped out. He walked around to the front of Arcee and said the only thing they could do for her while in public without giving their disguises away. "Open your hood."

They all knew that Cybertronian's didn't have engine problems, as such. If Arcee's engine wouldn't start it wasn't the engine that was the problem, it had more to do with her whole body rather than just the engine because all of their physical body parts functioned as one unit. The engine wasn't any more separate from her body than her head was. Something in her bodily processes was currently glitching up her circuits and stopping something as simple as starting her engine. To a human watching Arcee it would be, 'Oh, engine trouble'. To Ratchet it was, 'Oh crap, the sparkling is &^%$# something in her internals enough to tamper with her engine capability'.

Arcee's sleek Lotus hood moved upwards with the seemingly helpful hand of Ratchet, when really she was raising her hood herself with Ratchet's holoform hand underneath it. An illusion.

"I don't know if I can see anything this way but it's better than nothing," the CMO grumbled, leaning over her engine bay and having a poke around.

Ironhide was worried. Worried that Arcee was in danger. Worried that they may be attacked. Worried about defending a carrying femme when said femme was carrying his leader's sparkling. And what if the Decepticons have perfected some kind of technology that could knock out their engines from a distance? Much harder to do it to an Autobot than an Earth vehicle, but still possible. The 'Cons had always looked down upon the Autobots for being 'grounders', for having no flight capabilities (not considering the few Autobots that did have flight modes), maybe this was their doing?!

"Hmmm, like I said, I can't really see what is wrong, Arcee," Ratchet was mumbling, still poking.

Arcee spoke up, "I actually don't feel very well, Ratch."

Ironhide was nearly having kittens. This would be just like the 'Cons to go for their only female! They'd be nasty enough to do that!

Not listening to Arcee, Ratchet scratched at his cheek with one finger while he mused, "Perhaps this is something I suspected at your last scan but couldn't conclusively prove."

Feeling she was being ignored, Arcee tried speaking again. "Ratchet, I _said_ I don't feel very well."

Ironhide was shaking on his wheels. His scanners were going wild searching the area. The 'Cons! It was them! Had to be!

Ratchet kept mumbling, shoving his hands into the rear pockets of his jeans on his holoform, "That virus check, I thought there had been something there, although I dismissed it as random code. This is probably it."

Arcee tried again, "Ratchet, _please_, I think I'm going to-"

The deep roar of a very distinctive Peterbilt engine rocked the serenity of the carpark. Ratchet missed it. Arcee missed it. Ironhide missed it.

...and then the crap hit the spinning thing on the ceiling as three frantic Autobot mechs came to the rescue (or not) of their stricken (or not) femme.

First, Ironhide transformed into his robot mode with one bloody huge double barrelled rifle in one hand, yelling, "DECEPTICONS!"

Second, Ratchet threw his hands into the air as he announced triumphantly, "You've got a virus!"

Third, Optimus Prime in all his alpha mech glory transformed on the run from his Peterbilt vehicle mode and landed deftly next to Arcee in a fighters crouch while he frantically asked, "Arcee, what's wrong?! Why are you blocking me out of our sparklink and sending me static?! I thought you'd been attacked!"

The answer to all of the frantic questioning happened when Arcee transformed out of her Lotus car mode into her bipedal form, leaned over and vomited up a load of unprocessed energon onto the hood of Ratchet's Hummer. Ratchet's holoform disappeared with a squeal. She then coughed, discretely wiped her faceplates with the back of her hand and gave a teeny belch while fluttering her hand over her chest.

"Ratch, I TOLD you I didn't feel well. I think that last batch of solar engeron you made didn't agree with me." She grimaced at the mess she'd made of the CMO's hood. "Oh, er, sorry. In my defence, I did warn you." Ignoring all the mechs, she transformed back into her Lotus mode and tried to start her engine. It burst into life with no problem at all. "Oh, look! I'm working again! And I feel so much better. Let's go home now, I'm tired. Anyone up for a game of Halo?"

_**Later...**_

It was a nice evening. A summer evening. The sun was going down on the horizon, the sky was lit up with pretty pinks and reds. The birds were twittering in the trees. An armor caressing breeze came wafting over the hill.

And four male Autobots sat in their chairs in the outside area of the base, not noticing any of it.

"I left the new POTUS just as he was starting to sign the new citizenship agreement that would allow us to move from country to country with special certified passports," Optimus frowned, his arms folded over his big chest. Long armor-clad legs stretched out tiredly in front of him. A well-worn expression of 'these-things-happen' decorating his faceplates. "I'll have to re-negotiate the terms now. I think I upset him by running out like that."

Ratchet wanted to pick up the nearest tree and whack Optimus Prime over the head with it. "Oh yeah? You're upset? Just try cleaning expelled energon from every crevice of your body and then see if you still feel so bad. I've had three goes in the washracks and I still smell."

On the otherside of Ratchet, Ironhide kept repeating the same sentence he'd been saying for most of the afternoon. "I want my rifle back, Prime."

Optimus glared at him, "The same rifle you use to blow up planets with? The very same rifle I confiscated from you before we left Cybertron? The same rifle you were waving around near Arcee's _head_?"

"Yeah," Ironhide glared back, putting all of his menacing black weight behind it, "that one. I was only protecting your mate. It's the best weapon I've got. I want it back. NOW."

"You're worried about your damn gun?!" Ratchet whacked him in the back of the head with one mean fist, "Try getting thrown up on and see if you still want to whinge about your toys!"

"I very much dislike talking to human Presidents," Optimus said with a growl to no one in particular.

"HEY! Doesn't anyone want to play 'Halo' with me anymore?!" Arcee yelled loudly from the rec room.

Sitting a little off to the side by himself, not saying anything, Bumblebee leant back in his chair, linked his hands together in his lap and quietly giggled.


End file.
